


Party like it’s 2014

by Teragram



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Drug Use, Happy Ending, M/M, Past Sexual Assault, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Attempt, endverse inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:58:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7466040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teragram/pseuds/Teragram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s not surprised that Cas gave him a fake number. Why would a smokin’-hot guy who’s amazing in bed want to date an ex-con with a drinking problem? Sam uses the power of puppy dog eyes to make Dean promise to attend a peer support group.<br/>Castiel’s love for the emotionally distant Smith has made him into a walking medicine cabinet that smashes his car into utility poles. Now he’s facing a repair bill he can’t afford and the hot mechanic he ditched after their one-night stand.<br/>Dean offers him a deal—for every hour of AA Cas attends with him he’ll work an hour on his car. Cas can get his car back and Dean can sit through enough meetings to shut Sam up, knowing that he’s not the most messed up guy in the room. What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve moved Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. from Ohio to Lawrence KS. And made Smith & Wesson separate people from Dean & Sam.

Dean wasn’t a brainiac like his brother, Sam, but he knew he had a problem. Finally getting sprung from prison should make a guy happy. But here he was, two months free, and coming home with a forty of whisky and disappearing into his room to listen to Metallica. He’d started taking the recyclables out at night so Sam wouldn’t see how many bottles there were. His brother was already looking at him with sad puppy eyes; it was only a matter of time before Dean crumbled under that torture. And when he broke he was gonna leak feelings all over the damn place.

As Hetfield’s sluggish voice murmured Nothing Else Matters, Dean lay on his back and reviewed his own shortcomings. High school dropout, ex-con, in a dead-end job, living in his brother's spare room. He reached to the bedside table, popped the last of his antibiotics, and washed them down with a fiery gulp of booze. At least he could cross clap-infected off the list now. Just a little going-away present to remind him how much life inside had sucked. Still, it could’ve been worse. And it wasn’t as if his life on the outside was any prize.

Of Wolf And Man started to play and Dean heard the apartment door open and close. Sam was home. Great. Now he could hear all about how great things were going at school, and experience the oh-so-gentle prodding of Sam encouraging him to get out there and get a damn life. Dean didn't want a life anymore.  Having things to look forward to just gave people more they could take away from you. Dean got down to the serious drinking.

He woke to the shriek of his alarm and squinted at the rising sun stabbing through the blinds. Awesome. He wondered if this was how his dad, John, had felt all the time; only looking forward to the parts of his life when he was unconscious. He sat up, the creak of the bed and the popping of his joints too loud for his hungover brain. He wiped a hand across his lips and briefly contemplated just crawling back into bed. Screw the garage. Screw Bobby. Except Bobby would just show up and glare at him from under that shitty ballcap until he got a move on. So he may as well save him the trip.  He scraped his tongue against his teeth. It felt like Sea Monkeys had set up a kingdom in his mouth. He stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, downed two Aspirin and a glass of water, and then brushed his teeth. As he stepped into the steamy heat of the shower details of the night before came rushing back. Sam coming into his room, all loose limbs and anxious looks, offering pizza and wanting to talk. And Dean, God help him, had been just hungry enough and just drunk enough. Yep. That's how they get ya. With pizza and trickery.

Dean groaned. That kid was gonna make a great lawyer someday. Half an hour into the interrogation Dean had spilled his guts about Aaron. Adorable, scruffy-faced Aaron with the big brown eyes. They’d been together inside, but a week after Aaron’s parole came through he’d called with a pack of excuses about his family, and making better choices. And just like that, they were over. Dean tried not to hold it against him. He wasn’t exactly falling over himself to keep tabs on people he’d known inside either. But it fuckin’ hurt, and was more evidence that nobody was ever gonna love him. Dean hung his head under the hot spray and sighed. At least he hadn’t told Sam about Alistair, and why he’d been on antibiotics. That would’ve turned into a real Movie of The Week situation.

But as the weekend approached it became clear that telling Sam about Aaron had been a mistake, because Sam had appointed himself president of Dean’s personal PFLAG chapter, and things were getting way too rainbow. This bar Sam had dragged him to, for instance, was 100% not him. In his Triumph t-shirt, green flannel, and jeans, Dean was out of place. The too-fast electronic music, the too-thick crowds, the flashing lights. Jesus, the glitter. Dean watched a guy in nothing but PVC shorts and matching heels walk by and sighed. Where were the gay bars where dudes listened to Zeppelin, drank Jack, and shot pool while admiring each other’s ass? He could get into a bar like that.

“What do you want?” Sam asked, his excited eyes scanning a drink menu with names like Blue Balls and Angel’s Tit.

“I want to leave,” Dean answered honestly.

“Give it a chance, Dean. This is your community.”

“I got nothin’ in common with these people, Sammy. Seriously.”

“That’s not true. These guys date other guys. You dated Aaron.”

“Yeah. For about a minute.”

“At least have a soda and hang out a bit.”

“I’ll have a whiskey. Double. Neat. You’re payin’.” Sam’s mouth curled down at the edges but Dean ignored it. If you didn’t want a horse to drink you shouldn’t lead him to water. Or booze. Whatever.

As Sam weaved through the crowd, like a giraffe through a cornfield, Dean watched the dancefloor, his lungs vibrating with the bass. The guys dancing weren’t much younger than he was, but he didn’t share their carefree optimism. Prison had made him wary, and thoughtful. Everyone here seemed like a kid to him.

Okay, maybe not everyone. There was one guy who looked serious. Focused, even. And damn could he dance. This music sucked donkey balls but the way the guy rolled his hips made it…suck less. The hot guy was shirtless and his sweat-spiked hair looked like he’d just dragged himself out of bed. Dean licked his lips, mesmerized. It felt like he’d gotten tunnel vision as the crowd and noise fell away, and the tension in his chest unwound. And then the bastard looked right at him, and Dean’s mouth went dry. The guy was smiling now, his eyes locked on Dean but his hands slid down his naked torso, flirted briefly with a flat brown nipple, and then glided toward his low waistband. Dean was aware his mouth had fallen open but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Suddenly Sam was at his elbow, talking.

“Huh?”

“I said here’s your drink, dumbass.” Sam smiled and looked at the dance floor. “I see you’ve changed your mind about having a good time.”

“Not at all.” Dean smirked. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the scenery.”

“You should ask him to dance,” Sam suggested, gesturing toward Hot Dance Floor Guy with a fancy cocktail that reminded Dean of a peacock. Clearly his brother was secure enough in his sexuality to order the gayest drink in the bar.

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s not how these things work, Sammy.” Dean had no idea how these things worked. Everything he knew about picking up guys he’d learned in prison, and that wasn’t exactly a good test run for the outside world.

“Don’t be such a chicken. Go mingle. I’ll hold your drink.”

“A chicken. Really? What are we, ten?” Dean shook his head. He couldn’t just go talk to the guy. What would he say? ‘Hi, I’m Dean. I have a criminal record and my brother’s pretty sure I’m an alcoholic. Don’t ask me questions about prison and here’s a list of shit you can’t do without triggering a panic attack related to a couple of incidents I’m never gonna discuss?’ Yeah, right. Best to head home with a pleasant memory than screw it all up now.

Dean shook his head. “Forget about it. Nobody’s gonna want to date a grease monkey ex-con.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sam said. “ You’re a nice guy with a solid job and you’re in the best shape of your life.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

‘What?” Sam laughed. “I’m just saying. You obviously worked out a lot inside. It shows.”

Dean shrugged. “Not much else to do.” There’d been reasons he’d pushed himself to get bigger and stronger, but he wasn’t about to go into that. Sam could draw his own conclusions about Dean’s new-found claustrophobia and nightmares. On second thought, he'd rather he didn't.

Dean downed his whisky in a gulp and handed the empty glass to his brother. “I ‘preciate the vote of confidence Sammy, but I’ve had my fill of this rainbow hellmouth. I’m gonna hit the can, then we can leave. So drink your uh,...peacock.”

Dean threaded across the floor, dodging flailing arms and briefly becoming the unwitting dance partner of two very drunk women. As he reached the lit washroom signs, Dean cursed. The lines were long, a mix of genders in various stages of the ‘have to pee’ dance.

He turned to a pale redhead clearing a table of dirty glasses whose t-shirt identified her as a club employee.

“Got another head around here?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the thumping music.

She noted the line and looked at Dean as if sizing him up. “It’s staff only.” She said it like that was the end of the conversation, but she didn’t go back to busing the table, so maybe it wasn’t.

“No exceptions?” Dean tried some flirtatious eye contact, but got a total disinterest vibe. It figured she’d be a lesbian.

“Daphne or Velma?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Who do you like better? Daphne or Velma?”

A test. Great. “Velma.”

“Why?” her eyes narrowed.

Shit. Did lesbians prefer Daphne?

“She’s smart and nerdy. I like that.” Dean shifted his hips. His bladder was getting insistent. If this didn’t pan out he was heading for the nearest alley.

“You’re saying Daphne isn’t smart?”

A trick. 

“Smarter than Fred and Shaggy, but not as smart as Velma.”

That must have satisfied her because she pointed to a door at the end of the bar. “Downstairs!”

He hurried through the door and the music fell as it shut behind him. He hurried down the grimy stairs and along a hallway that doubled as a storage space to a blessedly empty bathroom.

He groaned as he emptied his bladder, the sound of relief feeling like it originated in his toes.

“Do you sound that sexy every time you piss?” The voice behind him was a thunderous rumble that put heat low in Dean’s gut.

He swiveled his head as he shook dry and tucked himself away, his stomach tense. It was Hot Dance Floor Guy. Up close his eyes were a bright metallic blue, and those pillow-soft lips looked perfect for…anything. In the glare of the fluorescents Dean could see sweat shining on his chest, the defined V of his obliques, and a hint of hair trailing into his pants. His libido shifted into drive.

The guy turned on the tap, and shovelled water into his perfect mouth.

“You’re good,” Dean said, feeling tongue-tied. “Dancing, I mean.” Nice, Winchester. That’s what you come up with? 

“I noticed you watching, uh...” The man let his sentence hand and it took Dean a moment to realize he was waiting for a name.

“Dean. Name’s Dean.” He made a move to offer his hand before he remembered he’d just been holding his cock. He shifted to the sink and washed. He turned and was startled to find the man close behind him. He took a deep breath and let it out, trying not to panic. This was a miscalculation of personal space, not aggression. Probably.

“I’m Cas.” The man looked him over and ran his tongue across his lower lip. “You don’t dance, do you?”

“Not really my thing, Cas.” His name felt good in Dean’s mouth.

Cas stepped back a few inches and the corners of his lips twitched. “In those boots I’m not surprised.”

Dean shrugged. His boots were perfect for garage work, but they’d never been intended for a dance floor. Cas didn’t look like he minded.

Cas pulled a compact from his pocket, leaned over it, and vacuumed the contents with a sudden sniff. He brushed the white from his nose hurriedly with the back of his hand and extended the compact toward Dean. “Want a bump?”

Dean felt frozen. It had been years since he’d even seen cocaine, let alone been offered any. It seemed oddly dated, like he was about to see someone wearing MC Hammer pants stroll by. “Uh. No thanks. I’m good.”

Cas put the compact away and pulled out a vial from which he scooped a fingerful of brown tar. He popped it in his mouth and sucked at it thoughtfully.

“You don’t mind my askin’, what the hell’s that stuff?” Dean watched Cas zip the vial into a pocket.

“Ees uh sperment,” Cas mumbled around his finger. He pulled it free. “I’m trying to recreate the effects of a speedball without the injection. The opium takes the edge off the coke.”

“Oh.” Dean had seen a lot of drug experiments inside, huffing paint, grinding up kitchen spices, licking plants. Dean had occasionally paid a guy for some rank prison hooch. But this…this was kinda weird.

Cas wiped his hand on his pants and leaned against a sink, drinking Dean in with his eyes. It was a look Dean was familiar with, and it usually meant sex, or violence. Sometimes both.

“Are you related to any Smiths?” Cas asked suddenly.

“Don’t think so. I’m a Winchester. Got some Campbells on my mom’s side. No Smiths. Why?”

Cas tilted his head. “You remind me of someone.”

“That good or bad?”

“Right now?” Cas took a step toward him, his blue eyes hooded. “It’s very, very good.” He ran a thumb across the back of Dean’s hand. When he met no resistance he pulled Dean’s hand toward him and put it on his hip.

He smiled as Cas nuzzled into his neck. He was right; this was good. Cas’ body was hard muscle and silky skin, and he smelled like sweat and musk. Dean leaned in until their lips almost brushed, and stayed there, waiting. Cas surged forward and then those soft full lips were against his own. And damn the guy could kiss. His teasing tongue was putting thoughts into Dean’s mind. The air in his lungs pulled out of him in an abandoned whimper.

He wanted to say something smooth but his brain wouldn’t cooperate. When he dragged his mouth across Cas’ bristled cheek he whispered, “You taste like flowers.”

Cas huffed out a laugh and Dean liked the way his eyes crinkled.

“It’s the opium tar.”

Cas looked right into his eyes and Dean felt naked to his bones. Holding the stare with those sharp-edged eyes, Cas slowly slid a hand past the waistband of Dean’s jeans and wrapped his fingers around the hot muscle straining inside. Dean groaned and bucked into the grip as Cas slid a thumb across the slick head. It’d been months since anyone had touched him, and nobody had touched him like this. Sex inside had been muffled, fast, and desperate. And before that, with girls in the back of the Impala or in cheap motel rooms, it had been energetic and reckless. Cas moved like they had all the time in the world, and Dean was going to lose it embarrassingly fast if he didn’t stop.

Cas pulled his hand free, grinned, and licked the clear stringy liquid from his fingers. “You want to get out of here?”

Speechless, Dean nodded, tasting Cas’ floral mouth on his lips. They were half way down the hall, headed for a fire exit, when Dean paused.

“Shit. Lemme text my brother real quick.” He laughed. “He’s gonna kill me for ditchin’ him.”

“He can kill you tomorrow. Tonight you’re mine.” Cas unzipped another pocket and pulled out a pill, popping it into his mouth and swallowing it dry. Catching Dean’s raised eyebrow, he smirked. “For erections. The speedball can present…problems.”

“Dude, are you always this Robert Downey Jr.?”

Cas rolled his eyes.

Dean paused at the door as the cold night air hit them. “Damn, it’s nippy. You got a shirt or anything?”

“I had one when I arrived.” Cas shook his head. “It’s not important.” Dean pulled off his plaid and wrapped it around Cas’ shoulders, rubbing his arms through the flannel.

“You okay?”

Cas crooked his head. “Are you asking if I’m too high to fuck?’

Dean blushed. “Maybe. Yeah. That a problem?”

“I’m fine. I’m extremely skilled with my dosages. You’re not taking advantage. I can give you that in writing if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Now you’re makin’ fun of me.”

Cas smiled, showing his gums. “Maybe. Yeah," Cas mimicked him. "Is that a problem?

“No, man. I kinda like it.” Dean looked along the empty street in both directions for a cab. He’d planned on getting hammered tonight, so Sam had insisted on holding the keys to the Impala. Without wheels he was stranded.

“You live nearby?”

Cas shook his head. “No. I’m out by the Alvamar. You?”

“I’m by KU.” Dean laughed. “Shit. Uh, motel?” He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through his cash. What he wouldn’t give for a fake credit card right now. But he’d promised Sam he’d stick to the straight and narrow from now on. Well, the narrow, anyway.

“Relax, Dean. I know a place.” Cas grabbed his hand and pulled him along the sidewalk. Four blocks later Cas moved to turn down a dark alley and Dean balked.

“Problem?”

“It uh….it kinda feels like you’re leading me to the second crime scene.” His lips curved into a smile he didn’t entirely feel. He eyed Cas’ smaller frame. He could take him in a fight, unless he knew martial arts or something. Dean was bigger, in better condition and, God help him, he’d had recent practice.

“What I want to do to you won’t happen in this alley,” Cas assured him. A few steps later he led Dean into a vestibule occupied by a bored man in a tight black t-shirt behind plexiglass.

“Hey Jerry. A room with a locker, please.” He slid some bills through a cutout in the window.

A buzz sounded and Cas yanked the door open and pulled Dean inside. The man passed them two bleached towels and a key.

It smelled like prison—sweaty men and industrial cleaner. A prison with a pool, Dean thought, as the sharp scent of chlorine hit him. Cas looked at the key in his hand and led Dean down two halls and past a set of open showers. The first six guys Dean saw were wearing nothing but towels.

“What is this place?”

“Think of it as a free brothel,” Cas said.

Dean felt like his head was on a swivel. He hadn’t been with guys before prison, but he got the impression there was a whole hookup system he knew nothing about. It made him nervous. This much free candy, there had to be a catch.

“Is this all dudes?”

Cas looked at him, deadpan. “If you were a woman, would you come to a place like this?”

Dean supposed he had a point.

“This is us,” Cas unlocked a door and led him inside. Dean closed the door and leaned against it, his muscles tense. The tiny space was designed for sex, with its mirrored wall and thin mattress on a wooden platform. It wasn’t much different from a prison cell, except for the privacy. And the locker, which was oddly reminiscent of high school.

Cas hung Dean’s flannel inside the locker and quickly stripped. Dean felt the blood speeding through his veins. Cas’ body was all angular planes, smooth pale skin and dark hair. His pupils were large from drugs or lust. Dean wasn’t used to guys staring at him this much unless they were hurting him. It was intimidating, but it was turning him on something fierce.

He reached behind his neck, gripped his t-shirt and pulled it forward and off. His hands shook as he shucked his jeans and shorts. He wished he’d had more to drink. The small room was too much like the utility closet from his nightmares. The feeling of Alistair’s shiv against his jugular flickered through his mind and Dean slammed the door on that memory. He hummed Metallica’s Enter Sandman and focused on Cas’ smooth skin and those sinfully soft lips.

Cas put a hand against Dean’s chest. “Mind if I get cleaned up? I’ve been sweating all night.”

Dean’s tension unwound. Getting out of the tiny room was a good idea. “Join me in a shower?” He recalled the ones on their way in.

Cas nodded. While he secured their clothes, keys, and wallets in the locker, Dean wrapped the rough white towel around his waist. He followed Cas to the shower, dropped the towel, and pulled him under the warm spray.

Cas looked gorgeous wet. From a dispenser attached to the wall Dean pumped a handful of soap and ran it down Cas’ chest, teasing his nipples and then down across his abs and into the dark thatch of hair, riding over his balls and back up his thickening cock.

Cas smiled as he traced Dean’s muscles. “You’re like an issue of Men’s Health.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Cas grinned, but Dean saw a flush spread across his face. “I’d say I read it for the articles, but a man has needs.”

Dean knew guys were watching them, and he wondered if they were gonna fuck right there. Some guys got off on being watched, and maybe Cas was one of them. He reloaded with soap and started on Cas’ back, washing each vertebra, and between the cheeks of his ass, teasing the rough hairs there and stroking lightly against his entrance. They hadn’t discussed roles, but Dean hoped they could go with something that wasn’t loaded with fear and self-hatred, and that meant him on top. Given the guttural sounds he was pulling out of Cas, he thought that might not be a problem. He shifted so the water was rinsing them clean.

“We’ve drawn an audience,” Cas whispered low against Dean’s ear.

Dean nodded. “And?”

“And I think we’re done here.”

Dean shut off the water and grabbed his towel. Half a dozen pairs of eyes watched them as they left. Back in the room he closed the door behind him and hissed out a breath. Cas had latched onto one of his nipples and was teasing it with tongue and teeth.

“Damn, Cas. You’re drivin’ me crazy.”

“You’re one to talk.” Cas ran his hands over Dean’s torso. “This is very impressive,” he purred. “You’re a work of art.” He moved to lick at Dean’s neck. “I want you in me.”

Dean let out a breath and his muscles unclenched. “So glad you said that.” He dropped his towel to the floor and moved Cas backward, to the bed. 

“Please fuck me,” Cas begged. Dean didn’t think he’d heard anything so sexy in his life.

“I will, babe. I will.” But first, Dean needed to taste the body writhing under his palms. He pinned Cas’ cock to his stomach with his mouth and lapped aggressively at the base of the head. Cas’ beautiful lips made increasingly desperate sounds. He licked down the shaft as Cas arched toward his mouth. His tongue nudged gently at Cas’ balls as they tightened against his body, and he lifted Cas’ hips and lowered himself to the mattress.

“Fuck Dean, are you doing what I think—oh!” his words broke as Dean’s mouth slid lower. His tongue swirled and jabbed until Cas was squirming in his hands. Then Dean slid his index finger inside Cas, teasing at the soft, delicate folds of his spit-slick ass, working him open. Cas was whimpering his name like a mantra. Somewhere nearby pants and moans turned into a crescendo of cries. For a moment, it felt like everyone in the world was getting laid.

“Lube?” He felt Cas reach for something and then a handful of single-use packs rained onto the mattress. Dean tore one open with his teeth and squeezed it over his fingers, rubbing them together to heat the glossy liquid. By the time he’d gone through two packs he was three fingers deep and had Cas bucking against him.

Cas clamped a hand tightly around Dean’s wrist. He stared, eyes glassy and lips swollen. “If you don’t fuck me soon I’m going to kill you and stuff your body in that locker.”

Dean chuckled and pulled his hand free. “My claustrophobia wouldn’t like that, Cas.”

Cas’ head fell back onto the mattress and Dean shifted forward, his heart pounding. He’d mentioned his claustrophobia out loud. Sure it was a joke, but he hadn’t told anyone, yet, not even Sam. Given Cas’ blissed out look, he wasn't bothered.

Dean grabbed a condom from a basket by the bed and fumbled with the wrapper. It’d been a while. Condoms hadn’t been an option inside, and bastards like Alistair wouldn’t have worn them anyway.

“Fuck.” Dean tore the first one, flung it into the garbage and grabbed another.

Cas’ head lolled back, his spine arching. “Just fuck me already.”

“Keep your panties on, man. I’m not going in raw.”

A wicked look crossed Cas’ face. “Would you like me in panties?”

Dean grinned as he ran a lubed hand over the condom. “Maybe.” He gripped Cas’ hip and pulled him forward, dropping a hand to line himself up. Cas moved to meet him.

“Damn, Cas.” Entry was tight, but soon Dean was balls deep and groaning at the clench and heat enveloping him. “So good.”

Dean moved to wrap a hand around Cas’ cock, but was pushed away.

“Not necessary.” Cas smiled, looking sure of himself despite his slack jaw and glassy eyes.

“Really?” Dean had come a few times with a cock in his ass, but it had always involved jacking it desperately with his fist.

“Trust me.” Cas slammed his hips forward and Dean bit a lip at the slippery tightness moving along his shaft.

“I’d better make it good then.” Dean tilted his hips, aiming for that little nerve bundle that would get Cas arching off the mattress. Ah…there it was.

“Oh fuck! Just like that. Give it to me, Dean!”

Dean smiled, knowing that every room around them could hear how he was making Cas feel. He looked down at his cock disappearing into Cas’s ass, enjoying the view, then leaned forward to mouth at Cas’ jaw. He thrust deeper and Cas shifted, bringing his legs up. And up, and up.

“Damn Cas, how are you this flexible?” He ran a calloused hand along Cas’ muscled leg.

Cas’ answer was low and throaty, making Dean’s balls tighten.

“I teach yoga.”

“Really?” Dean sucked in air though his teeth. Hot Yoga Instructor was one of his go-to fantasies, but it had never occurred to him that guys taught yoga too. Dean could practically hear his brain ringing like a pinball machine as his spank bank filled with images of Cas in various bendy positions.

“Yes, really. Now can you please fuck me into the mattress?”

“You asked for it. Hang onto something.” Dean hooked a hand over Cas’ shoulder and slammed forward, using his weight to full effect. Cas’ cock slapped wetly against his stomach.

Dean’s nerves buzzed like someone had hit the on switch to every inch of his skin. He let his brain coast on instinct and it felt like freedom. He clung to Cas and felt his emotions flood their containers. Shit. This was not the time to start with the feelings overload. They were just two strangers exploring their nerve endings, but it felt like more. Dean had learned not to trust that feeling. It was just wishful thinking, and it bit him in the ass every time.

“Oh Dean!” Cas bucked to meet him, muscles straining. “Fuck me. Use me. Make me yours.”

The idea of this beautiful bendy man and his bright eyes somehow belonging to Dean was overwhelming. “Oh God, Cas. I’m losin’ it!” He buried his face into Cas’ neck and felt him shudder as he spurted, hot and wet, across their stomachs. Dean gasped as his own cock tensed and pulsed, his nerves melting. He collapsed, breathing in Cas’ musky scent and feeling the slick glide between them. Cas had been right about not needing a hand. The thought made his over-sensitive body parts throb as if wanting to give it another go, but exhaustion won out. As soon as he could move he slid sideways, onto the mattress.

“That was friggin’ Incredible,” Dean admitted when he could speak again. It was better than Aaron. Better than any hookup before prison, even.

He stared at Cas’ blue eyes and dragged air into his aching lungs. Jesus, he needed to do more cardio. Maybe he should start jogging with Sam in the morning. Sex like this would be a great motivation.

“Agreed.” Cas’ lids were half closed, his smile wide and blissful.


	2. Chapter 2

The tiny bathhouse room smelled like sex and had warmed up considerably, even as the sweat cooled on Dean's skin.

“So,” he stared at Cas, taking in his high cheekbones, flushed skin, and smooth chest, “could we do this again?”

“Maybe." Cas grinned. "Give me a minute to catch my breath.”

Dean laughed. “I admire your stamina, man, but I meant like a date. Dinner, movie… mind-blowing sex?”

“Uh…” The pause went on too long and Dean’s guts knotted.

“Shit, you’re not seeing someone, are you? Was this…did we just….”

“Relax, Dean. You didn’t do anything adulterous.” Cas laughed, but he sounded sad, like something was broken.

Dean felt a protective urge, but figured it was a hangover from prison dating, which had been about making alliances as much as getting laid. He thought back to Aaron’s hulking golem of a cousin whose protection had kept Alistair at bay. Temporarily, anyway. Would he and Aaron have hooked up if it weren’t for that? He wasn’t sure. His affection was all tangled up in his feelings of gratitude. That must be why he was choked up now.

“Then can I get your number?” He passed over his phone and Cas stared at it before he began typing.

“Got a phone?”

Cas handed it to him.

“This is me,” Dean entered his number. “You need me, you call, okay? Anytime.”

Cas nodded, and they exchanged phones again. They dressed, suddenly shy. Cas dropped the key at the front and looked at his phone.

“Jesus, it’s three. My bus doesn’t even start for four hours.”

“Guess we’re cabbing it.” Dean followed Cas to a coffee shop where taxis waited.

“I’m west,” Cas said, tipping his head in that direction.

“Shit. I’m north.” Dean moved in and kissed Cas. “Any way I could convince you to come home with me?”

Cas ran a hand down Dean’s cheek. “Thanks, but I have to decline.” Dean hovered close as Cas slipped into a cab, then tapped the roof in a goodbye as it pulled away.

All the way to Sam’s apartment Dean’s face ached from the grin he couldn’t hold back. As soon as he got home he sent Cas a text.

_Tonight was amazing. The Fly @ Liberty Hall next week?_

Still smiling, he slipped easily to sleep.

***

Leaning against the mirrored wall of the tiny bathhouse room, Castiel had tried to keep his cool when Dean asked for a date. The men he picked up never did that. Dean suggested dinner and a movie like he wanted to hold hands across a table, and share popcorn in the dark. Castiel felt his chest tighten. Men like Dean didn’t date guys like him. It was ridiculous.

He took even controlled breaths. This fuzzy feeling of interest in Dean he was having was just a chemical reaction. It was those green eyes and his tanned skin that were doing this to him. Smith by proxy. And he did look like Smith. It was why he’d followed him to the bathroom and left with him. It was probably why the sex had been so amazing. But trying to date would break the fantasy. Dean wasn’t Smith.

The last four numbers he punched into Dean’s phone were made up on the spot.

***

When Dean woke on Saturday it was 11:47am. He knew this because the first thing he did was check his phone. He had a reply to his movie invitation, but his excited grin quickly faded.

_Sorry, wrong number._

Dean stared at the phone. Cas was teasing him. Had to be.

_It’s Dean. From last night._

He waited, staring at the screen.

_Srsly dude. Elbow deep in an autopsy last night._

Dean was getting a bad feeling.

_Cas?_

_Don’t know a Cas. I’m a Garth._

Dean hung his head. Fuck. Did he seriously think that gorgeous blue-eyed man would want to date a no-class loser with like him? He should’ve known better.

_Sorry to bother you, man._

_No problemo._

Dean went into the kitchen and put on coffee, feeling like his chest was full of glass. He glanced at the door to Sam's room. Shit. It was only gonna get worse, too. Sam was gonna wanna talk about last night. He’d joke and tease and ask questions and every word was gonna feel like a shiv to the gut. Fuck. This day was getting worse by the minute.

Except maybe.

Cas had been high. Maybe he’d screwed up entering his number. That could happen. Maybe he was expecting Dean to call.

And maybe this was denial.

Dean carried his mug to the couch. When his head had cleared a little he leaned forward and grabbed his brother’s laptop. Cradling it, he Googled the number Cas had given. It belonged to a Garth Fitzgerald IV, who worked for the County Coroner’s office. The big-eared smiling face on Facebook made it clear, this guy wasn’t Cas. This guy looked like a human version of Pinocchio.

Dead end, Nancy Drew. What now?

Sorting through his recollections, Dean realized he knew at least one thing about Cas. He taught yoga. He searched for yoga places in Lawrence.

Damn. He had no idea it was such a popular activity. There were yoga studios, private practitioners, and folks working for community centers and gyms. But without a full name he was shit out of luck. Cas was probably short for Casey or something. Hell, it might even be a nickname. Given how good the bastard was in bed it could stand for Casanova.

He considered calling every place in town that offered yoga and asking for Cas, but that felt eerily like stalking. The guy had his number. Hell, he even had his first and last name. If he was interested, he’d call.

Dean really hoped he’d call.

***

“What’re you so damn happy about?”

Castiel looked up from his coffee at Smith, his drug of choice. The only one he was really addicted to, if he were honest about it. The man had been staring at him oddly for hours now, and Castiel was loving it. Every time he looked at Smith’s green eyes and freckled nose he remembered Dean slamming into him, that handsome face giving him that look of amazed interest. Smith was right to wonder. Castiel hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off his face.

“Good sex,” Castiel retorted.

“You’re lucky guys have such low standards.” Smith hated it when Castiel got laid, although why was never clear, since Smith insisted he was 100% hetero.

Castiel smirked. “Screw off, Smith. I’m in a good mood.”

“How about using this good mood energy to clean? I want to bring Adler and his people over for dinner next week.”

Of course he did. Part of Smith’s reason for getting such a luxurious apartment was so he could use it to suck up to his boss.

“Feel free to stay out that evening,” Smith added gratuitously. Castiel knew he wasn’t expected to attend, and he didn’t want to.

“Zachariah is a bore,” Castiel said. “Talking to him makes me want to stab myself in the chest.”

Smith snorted. “That attitude’s the reason you’re still teaching yoga. You got no ambition.”

“I like it that way.” Castiel took a lacquered box from a drawer of Smith’s mock-antique coffee table and pulled his first joint of the day from it. “Keeps life simple.”

Smith hovered in front of him. “So you’ll clean before the dinner?”

“Yes, Smith. I’ll clean.”

“Good. You always do a nice job.”

A complement. He wanted something else.

“Any chance you could make those little cheese things you did before? Adler likes those.”

There it was. Please, Castiel, cook for my dinner party and then get your drug-addled ass out so nobody sees you. Still, Smith needed him. It was a nice feeling.

“Of course.”

“Great. And no smoking pot in here next week.” Smith pointed an accusing finger at him. “I don’t want this place smelling like Burning Man.”

“Yes sir, yes sir,” Castiel muttered, “three bags full.”

Smith turned the television to a rerun of Project Runway and ignored him.

Castiel lit the joint and relaxed as the smoke filled his lungs. He looked at Smith in profile and remembered Dean’s mouth on him. It was exhilarating, the way Dean and Smith could blend together in his mind. There were differences, of course. Despite how many green smoothies he drank or diets Smith went on he didn’t have Dean’s developed musculature. And Cas liked Dean’s hair better. Smith used four products in his, but it never looked as good.

***

By Tuesday Dean Winchester was boarding the bus to Crazytown.

He’d pinned a map of Lawrence to his wall and marked the location of the bar, the bathhouse, and the coffee shop where he and Cas had grabbed taxis. It had been 3:00am when Cas mentioned that his bus didn’t start running for another four hours, so Dean marked bus routes running west that started at 7:00am. Cas had mentioned living by “the Alvamar,” so Dean figured he meant the golf course rather than the street, and the 29 went right by there. And now he was marking places offering yoga in that neighborhood.

Even as he switched markers he knew it was pointless. There was no guarantee Cas worked near his home. Dean stared at his Big Gay Stalker Map. All it was missing was red yarn and newspaper clippings.

Yep. This was the way to Crazytown.

***

Castiel was worried. Not about the stupid dinner that had Smith bouncing around the apartment like a Roomba. No, that he as handling just fine. ‘Make the cheese things’ had turned into cooking the whole dinner, which had been Smith’s plan all along. Castiel prepared coco curry lobster, a dish that Smith had read about in a magazine. Supposedly, it was served at the most expensive restaurant in New York. Smith was such a snob, but Adler was too, so he’d be impressed.

What worried Castiel was that he hadn’t stopped thinking about Dean. He knew it was what his former therapist would’ve called transference. His feelings for Smith shifting onto Dean, like germs picked up on the bus. But that didn’t stop him from dwelling on the smell of his skin, with hints of motor oil and leather. He wondered if Dean raced motorcycles or something, and lately he’d imagined them on one, his chest against Dean’s back and his arms clutched around him. If Dean took him away somewhere maybe Castiel could be someone else. It was a nice fantasy.

“Adler’s people will be here in fifteen,” Smith said, struggling to put a link into a snowy white shirt cuff. “Finish the salad, then you gotta go.”

“Relax. I’m on it.” Castiel took the cufflink from him and fastened it, then straightened Smith’s tie. “The lobsters are in the chafing dish. Dessert is in the fridge. Salad’s washed and dried. Don’t add the dressing until you’re about to plate it. Serve the wine, chilled, with the entrée.”

“Right. And the cheese things?”

“On the table. I got that whisky you asked for. You’re paying me back. It cost a fortune.”

“Thanks, babe.” Smith pulled Castiel in for a hug that lingered three seconds longer than necessary. His reward. Smith smacked him on the ass. “Now get lost. Don’t come back before midnight.”

Castiel washed his face and changed into his club clothes, memories replaying in his mind. Dean, wrapping his soft plaid shirt around his shoulders to protect him from the cold night air. Caressing him in the shower. Eating him out. Shouting his name as he came.

Castiel checked his hair and grabbed his wallet and keys. This was stupid. He was fixating on a guy he would never see again. He needed to push the memory of Dean out of his mind.

He needed sex. A lot of it.

***

It was a Thursday and Dean was in the gay bar for the third time that week. The naïve hope of running into Cas that he’d nursed on Tuesday and Wednesday had faded, as had his desire to stay sober.

He’d deflected Sam’s excited questions, saying only that he’d gotten laid and might see the guy again. He made it sound like the decision was up to him, but also like maybe he couldn’t be bothered. He’d put a poster of a cherry red Mustang over his Big Gay Stalker Map before he left. It was a little Shawshank Redemption, but sometimes Sam went into his room to drop off laundry, and he didn’t want to explain that he’d recently become the Mayor of Crazytown.

And he was definitely Mayor now. Last night he’d gone to the bathhouse and talked to the guy behind the plexiglass. Cas had called him Jerry, so Dean figured maybe they knew each other. Jerry had been sympathetic, but hadn’t known more about Cas than Dean did, except to say he hadn’t been back since. That had pleased Dean more than he’d expected.

Since the bathhouse was a bust that left the bar. Well, not quite. He supposed his next step was riding the 29 bus, hoping to run into Cas. If he was going to be pathetic he may as well be completely pathetic. Or maybe completely pathetic would be taking random yoga classes. It wouldn’t hurt to increase his flexibility.

But tonight he was staking out the gay bar. Although after declining the attentions of a few women he realized the bar wasn’t exclusively gay, despite their rainbow décor and drag shows. As he worked on his fourth whisky he was increasingly sure he’d never need the lines he’d imagined using if he saw Cas again, which was just as well. They sounded like they belonged in someone else’s mouth anyway.

He squinted into the dark, shielding his eyes against the strobes, people visible only in snapshots. His brain rejected everyone with a simple verdict: not Cas. Suddenly he spotted a familiar head of tousled hair and adrenaline shot through his body. Was it him? Could it be? It was. Cas. Blue-eyed, scruffy-jawed Cas.

And he was…making out with a woman?

Cas buried a hand into her messy blonde hair and pulled her into a kiss. Confusion, denial, and anger battled for supremacy in Dean’s head. That wasn’t a friend kiss. That was a fuck-your-brains-out kiss.

Okay, so maybe the guy was bisexual. Or pansexual. That was just something they had in common, right?

Just as they broke apart Cas turned and pulled her dark-haired friend in for the same.

Shit. Dean was half turned on and half on fire with jealousy. He’d had seen that expression on Cas’ face before. Wanton. Unrestrained. He knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of that look. He felt his eyes start to water and swallowed thickly. He would not fuckin’ cry. He felt anger rush to take the place of despair and pushed that back as well. If Cas preferred to live out some Three’s Company fantasy instead of calling him, then so be it. Chrissy and Janet over there were in for a great evening.

He closed his eyes, feeling like a fool, his stomach a sour pit. He had no claim over the guy. They’d had one hookup. Sure, it had been fantastic, but that didn’t mean anything. And Cas had been high, so maybe he didn’t even remember it. Dean had done lots of stuff while drunk that he barely remembered afterwards. That shit happened sometimes. Well, it happened to people like him and Cas anyway.

When Dean looked again a third woman had joined the party. She flashed a baggie of white powder and the four of them stumbled eagerly into the dark.

Dean walked to the bar, his muscles like sandbags, and ordered a double of Jack. Cas had moved on. And on and on. No wonder the sex had been so good. The guy must practice all the friggin’ time. He sighed. At least it explained why Cas hadn’t called. What did Dean have that could compete with a coked-up version of Charlie’s Angels? Nothing, that’s what.

Dean looked at his dwindling drink. The Mayor of Crazytown was destined to rule alone.

“Guess it’s just you ‘n me, Jack.”

The redhead behind the bar turned. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I’d like another Jack,” Dean growled. He pulled out his credit card. “Run a tab, would’ya?” He awoke on the floor of his bedroom, carpet imprinting his face. He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten home.


	3. Chapter 3

Smith's voice pulled Castiel to consciousness. “Good time last night?” Smith’s voice was smooth disinterest with just a soupçon of disgust.

Castiel lifted his head, which ached in protest.  He blinked his eyes and snippets of the night started to come back to him.

“Where are the girls?” How many had there been? Two? Three?

“I sent them home.” Smith paused, four beats. His dinner party must have gone well or he’d be complaining about it by now. He wouldn’t mention it until he needed something again. Gratitude wasn’t Smith’s style.

“You getting up?” Smith knew Castiel felt like shit, he just didn’t care.

Castiel glared at the clock. “It’s six-thirty. You woke me at six-thirty? On a Saturday?”

Smith drained the cloudy green juice in his glass. “It’s Friday, Sherlock.”

Castiel let out a frustrated groan. “Fuck. Give me a minute, would you?” He buried his head in the covers, imagining how it would feel if Smith walked those few steps into the room and slid into bed with him.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart, but if you’re not ready in twenty-eight minutes you’re taking the bus to work.” He looked at his expensive watch. “Twenty-seven, now.

Castiel groaned and rolled out of bed. “You’re a real buzzkill.”

“And you’re a coke whore. Welcome to our lives.”

***

Unlike the other students in his Intro Law class, Sam knew crime from both sides. His dad, John, had made a living on credit card scams and short cons, moving his children from one cheap motel to another. Sometimes he’d disappear for weeks, in jail or lying low. When their dad was gone Dean had hustled pool and ran the credit card game to put a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Sam didn’t even want to think about what else Dean might have done. But he knew he owed his brother a debt he could never repay. Which was why he refused to watch Dean drink himself to death.

Sam was 80% sure this was his fault. As an angry sixteen-year-old he’d tried his hand at a scam of his own. But inexperience bit him in the ass, and before he knew it there were cops outside. Dean had understood immediately, kissed him on the forehead, and walked out, hands in the air, taking the rap. He’d done time as an adult, getting two years for fraud and earning a third for an assault inside.

Sam had gone to stay with Bobby, a friend of their dad’s from way back. His grades improved with the stability. If he worked his ass off over the next two years he could finish his BA early and go to law school on a scholarship. But there was no way he could leave with Dean in this shape. The guy was barely hanging on.

Sam had been awoken just after 4:00am to find Dean, on his hands and knees, butting his head against their apartment door. As Sam watched, he’d crawled into his room and passed out on the floor. Sam manhandled him into the recovery position so he wouldn’t choke if he vomited. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew it needed to stop.

When Dean’s alarm went off Sam brought him a glass of water and some Aspirin.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled.

Sam sighed. “Look Dean, your drinking is way out of hand. Is this about prison? Did something happen to you in there?”

“Not goin’ there, Sammy,” Dean warned, his voice low and rough. “Drop it.”

“I’m not gonna drop it. I think you should see a therapist. Seriously.”

Dean slid out of bed and staggered into the kitchen in search of coffee. “I don’t need a shrink,” he shouted to his brother, who followed behind.

“Well you sure as shit need somethin’, boy.” Bobby’s gruff voice sounded from the living room. He was sipping coffee out of a chipped Lawrence University mug.

“Bobby?” Dean squinted at the two of them. “What the hell? You’re ambushing me with this shit first thing in the mornin’?”

Bobby huffed. “Consider it your ‘wake the hell up’ call.”

Sam cleared his throat while Dean helped himself to the dregs of the coffee pot. “Bobby and I talked it over, and we agree you need help. Maybe that’s therapy, maybe it’s peer support, like AA.”

“I don’t need friggin’ AA.” Dean had gone to a couple of meetings inside, and all the religion talk wasn’t for him. If God hadn’t stepped in during any of the lousy shit in his life so far he certainly wasn’t about to pitch in on staying sober. And the peer support element had its drawbacks too. Alistair had been in AA, so he could meet vulnerable guys and work his way into their heads and their pants. It wasn’t a place Dean felt safe.

“Look, I know you’re not into religion,” Sam extended a brochure, “but they have a meeting for atheists. Agnostics. Whatever. No God-talk, just support. Please? For me?” Sam’s puppy dog eyes were cranked up to 11.

Dean sipped his coffee and started at the brochure, feeling his resolve crumble. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well think about it in the shower,” Bobby snapped. “Ya got work in an hour.”

Dean gulped the coffee and winced. “You’re a lousy boss, you know that, right?”

“That’s exactly what your daddy used to say when I’d drag his hung-over ass into work.”

Dean paused at the door to the bathroom. “Really?”

“No word of a lie.”

“Shit.” Dean shut the bathroom door and leaned his head against it. Maybe he did need AA.

***

Castiel had been stoned for hours, but the salvia he’d smoked three minutes ago was just kicking in when Smith came out of his room, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He walked to the stack of dress shirts Castiel had picked up from the drycleaners. “My pink bespoke come back?”

“’S’not ready yet.” His voice sounded sluggish. Or maybe it was his hearing that was sluggish.

Smith glared at the tiny pipe on the coffee table, grabbed the clothes, and disappeared into his room. Castiel stared at the program he wasn’t watching. It was the end of fiscal and he wasn’t getting his usual dose of Smith. It made him testy.

Later, after his next hit of salvia peaked, he heard the gurgle of the espresso machine and the hiss of the milk steamer. He smiled. Any evidence of Smith’s continued presence was a positive.

He thought of Dean’s hands, rough and masculine, so different from Smith’s buffed manicure. Why could he enjoy Dean’s hands so much when he loved Smith? Had been loving Smith. Will have been loving Smith. His mind went through the options like he was memorizing a verb declension.

“I love you.”

Castiel didn’t know he’d said it out loud until Smith slammed the milk steamer onto the counter.

“Christ, not this again.” Smith grabbed him by the jaw and titled his head back and forth, examining his eyes. “What’d you take?” Castiel could see the air around Smith vibrating like it was alive.

“You don’t wanna know.” Castiel’s head lolled in his grip. “I’ve always loved you. You don’t want to know that either, do you?”

It was true, though. He’d been hooked on Smith since he showed up on his doorstep to pick up Anna for their first date.

Anna. Brilliant, Princeton-bound Anna. He tried not to think about her, but he remembered her shiny red hair and soft voice as if she’d been alive yesterday. For a moment he imagined a world in which neither of them had met Smith. The Salvia-pot combo made the idea feel almost real. But if Anna hadn’t met him, hadn’t died, then Castiel wouldn’t have spent the past seven years with Smith. And life without Smith was intolerable.

Smith released his jaw and wiped his hand on his pant leg. “I’ve got to finish my fourth quarter spreadsheets. I don’t have time for your ’woe is me’ bullshit.”

“You work too much,”Castiel said.

“Yeah? Well you suck up drugs like a Columbian vacuum.”

“Kiss me.” Castiel wasn’t begging, but he would have, if Smith said that’s what he wanted.

“Not today, sweetheart.”

“Fuck me then.” Castiel smiled, lasciviously. “You don’t even need to like me to do that.”

“Not gonna happen. Although you do have pretty lips.” Smith ran a thumb across Castiel’s mouth, grabbed his coffee and retreated to his bedroom. Castiel heard the deadbolt clunk home. Smith had installed it the second time he’d woken to find Castiel passed out on the floor beside his narrow bed. He suspected Smith had chosen a twin on purpose, to discourage anyone from trying to stay over after sex. One of Smith’s recurring diatribes was about avoiding romantic entanglements that weren’t ‘conducive to upward mobility.’ Smith didn’t waste relationships on people who couldn’t do anything for him.

Castiel fumbled for the pipe, refilled it, and sucked the rough smoke into his lungs. He laughed his exhale. If he were a CEO, like Adler, he and Smith would be married by now, Smith’s alleged heterosexuality notwithstanding. What actually got Smith hot, he suspected, had always been success.

Castiel grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table and blew his nose. He couldn’t even cry anymore. He had in the beginning, before he’d discovered the joy of getting numb. Maybe he’d run out of tears. Maybe the drugs dehydrated him. Or maybe his body had learned not to cry because Smith didn’t like it.

His eyes went to his keys, lying where he’d dropped them when he came home from work. Had it been hours ago? It was hard to tell. Time had gotten stretchy.

He stood, wobbly-legged, and walked to the hall, pressing his ear against Smith’s door. He could hear the soft clacking of the keyboard and Smith’s voice murmuring about sales projections. Castiel slid down the door to sit on the carpet, leaning against the door. He knew Smith would never love him, but he was tied to him by obligation, and habit. Castiel remembered how they'd clung to each other when the doctor told him Anna hadn’t survived the car crash, and he remembered her blood on Smith’s face.

If he was honest about it, his love for Smith was ruining him. He relied on Smith for everything he would give. And when Smith drew the line, Castiel punished himself. Drugs. Women. Men. It was a challenge: See what you make me do. But it was also a plea: Care enough to make me stop. But Smith never did. Maybe he was waiting for the day Castiel didn’t wake up. The day he’d finally be free of the guilty reminder. If he loved Smith why couldn’t he at least give him that?

Smith would be busy for hours and the keys were on the coffee table. It’d be easy. He crawled to the livingroom, smoked the last of the salvia and headed out the door. He could be in the car before it kicked in.

The underground garage smelled like dust and he stumbled past Smith’s silver Prius to his own older model Lincoln. He could barely walk now, but driving would be easier. He sideswiped something on the way out of the parking structure and suddenly his driver’s side mirror was dangling. He found this ridiculously funny.

He stared, eyes glossy, through the windshield, seeing the dirty water spots scattered across it, and then focused beyond them at the street. He was a fish, floating through a school of shiny vehicles, until he pulled away onto an old highway. The disused road was abandoned to all but local traffic. It was straight and empty. Like Smith, he supposed.

The street seemed endless, so he wasn’t sure how long he’d been driving when he saw the utility pillar. It was cement, and thick as a garbage can. It would do. He directed the car toward it, the engine growling as he pushed the pedal to the floor. It was as if the pillar were rushing to embrace him. He relaxed. He was going to see Anna again.

***

Castiel vaguely recalled people putting a mask over his face, and was disappointed to be alive before he slipped into unconsciousness again. Later, when he woke in a bed with plastic sides, a nurse in pink scrubs was emptying a bag of urine strapped to his thigh.  He expected to be handcuffed to the bed, but no police officers stopped by. He wondered if this was Smith’s doing or if his attempt at vehicular suicide had just fallen through the cracks.

The next two days were boring, broken only by tests and visits from medical personnel. The day he was to be discharged he woke to see Smith standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed and his mouth a hard line.

“You done looking for attention?”

“Yes.” Castiel turned away. He couldn’t tell Smith he’d meant to die. He wouldn’t believe it anyway. And if he told anyone else he’d find himself in a psych ward.

“Good. 'Cause I got better things to do than cart your broken ass around.” He kicked a wheelchair toward the bed. “Don’t scratch my Prius with that thing.”

Castiel tried to maneuver himself into the chair. Smith watched him fall and pick himself up again. “Did my car survive?”

Smith laughed. “If you can call it that, yeah. I had it towed to Singer Salvage.”

***

Bobby smacked his hand on the doorframe of the break room and Dean looked up from his half-eaten sub.

“You’re up. Bay 4.”

Dean washed a mouthful of sandwich down with coffee and headed into the garage. As the radio on his tool chest played Bad To The Bone he inspected the job. It was a Lincoln Continental, 1978, with a buckled hood, damage to the fender and front quarter panel, gouges along the driver’s side door, and a missing side mirror. He let out a whistle. Classic pole collision. Whoever’d been driving was lucky to walk away, if they did. There was blood on the driver’s side interior.

As Dean surveyed the damage he could hear Bobby’s voice moving closer. “Got my best guy on it now.”

“What is it going to cost?” a low voice snarled.

Dean’s head snapped up and his heart plummeted into his guts. It was Cas, who gave him a fake number and the best orgasm of his life. The guy he’d last seen getting it on with half a women’s volleyball team was here, in his garage.

Dean caught his reflection in the intact rear door window and ran a hand through his hair, trying to look presentable.

“Dean?” Bobby asked, coming around the corner into the bay. “Whadda ya recon’?”

Dean bolted upright. Cas was in jeans, a t-shirt, and an army surplus jacket. It was the most he’d seen Cas wear, and it was rumpled as hell, but he looked fantastic. Dean stared.

“Huh?”

“’Bout that Lincoln?” Bobby’s beard wrinkled reproachfully.

Dean looked from Cas to the damaged vehicle and back again.

“This is your car.” Dean swallowed. He should tell him off. Make him tow his Lincoln to another garage. Tell him he was an asshole. What came out was “Jesus Christ, Cas. Were you driving when this happened?”

He hurried toward him, pulling up short but knowing he was standing too close.

“If I hadn’t been driving, it wouldn’t have happened.” Cas looked away, moving his head stiffly, and Dean spotted fading purple bruises peppered down the side of his face.

“You’re hurt.” Dean reached out to Cas and pulled back again. Catching the curiosity in Bobby’s eyes, Dean moved past Cas and leaned toward his boss. “It’s cool. I know the guy. Met him when I was out with Sam.” He wasn’t about to say where, or why.

“Alright then. I’ll leave you boys to it.” Bobby retreated to his office.

Dean turned to Cas. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine, Dean.” The ghost of a smile drifted across his lips. “My car, not so much.”

“That’s for sure.” Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck, his hair damp with nervous sweat. “This much bodywork, assuming there’s no frame damage, you’re looking at $6500, and that’s if we can find the parts.”

“Can’t you…”Cas gestured helplessly at the front, “pound the metal out so the wheels can run and let me take it from there?”

Dean almost laughed. “Dude, you can’t drive this. It’s not even close to legal.”

Cas paced back and forth, making a desperate sound in the back of his throat. “Ugh! I cannot afford this. I cannot afford this.”

Dean pressed his lips together. He wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t. This guy had screwed him six ways from Sunday and given him a fake number. He wasn’t worth it. Not at all.

He heard that pained sound ripping from Cas’ throat again and stepped forward, putting a reassuring hand on the guy’s shoulder.

Shit. He was doing it.

“Listen, man, maybe we can work something out.”

Cas glanced back toward the office and then lowered his voice. “What did you have in mind?”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “Jeez, Cas. Not what you’re thinking.” He circled Cas until his back was to Bobby’s office. “Look, my foster dad owns this place and he’s been on my ass to do something. And I said I would, but I haven’t, but I—”

“Cut to the chase. What is it?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “He wants me to go to AA.”

“As in Alcoholics Anonymous?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t have to be them exactly, but something like that.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, assessing him. “And…you want me to go in your place? Pretend to be you?”

“What? No!” Dean smiled. Cas had a devious mind. He liked that. “I just don’t wanna go alone. Safety in numbers, you know? Be my wing man for this peer support thing and I’ll fix your car.”

Dean emptied his lungs and sucked in a fresh breath. The way he figured it, they’d go to enough meetings to get Sam and Bobby off his back, cut his drinking back to normal limits, and Cas would prevent him from getting sucked into any kind of abstinence cult. From what he’d seen, Cas didn’t do abstinence.

He could see Cas thinking. “How many meetings?”

“Hour of meeting for an hour of work. Repairs might take two weeks, so 70 hours?”

Cas paused. “Okay.”

“Great. I’ll let him know.” Now to address the issue of the bogus number. “Listen, uh, sorry I didn’t call. After…you know. I’ve been busy.” Yeah, that’s it. He didn’t call. And he definitely didn’t stakeout the bar, or get any of his tender feelings ground into shards. Still, he couldn’t resist a little payback. “But I’ve got your number, so I’ll let you know when the meeting is.”

“Actually I have a new number,”Cas said. “It’s on the paperwork I gave to the guy in the office. Robby?”

“Bobby.” Dean couldn’t help but smile. The bastard was smooth, he’d give him that. “Okay. I’ll call with a date and time for the meeting.” He looked at the smashed car. “And I guess I’ll pick you up.”

“You’ll have to.” Cas smiled, and Dean’s body ached a little for reasons he didn’t examine too closely. “I’m a pedestrian now.”

“Well,” he said, “if you need a lift somewhere, give me a shout.” A lift? What was he thinking? He’d basically volunteered to be the guy’s chauffeur.

“Thanks, Dean. I appreciate your help with,” He gestured feebly at the smashed vehicle, “everything.”

Dean slapped a hand on Cas’ shoulder and used the grip to guide him toward the exit. “It’s not a favour. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

***

Castiel bid goodbye to the last of his students and put away the remaining mats. Tonight was his first AA meeting with Dean and he was feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement. The deal had been his best option, given the circumstances. There was no way he’d have been able to scrape together enough to fix his car, even if it had cost half as much. Castiel walked to Smith’s apartment, thinking fond thoughts of Dean. The guy had cut him a sweet deal, despite knowing he’d gotten stuck with a bogus number. He’d made a good attempt at saving face, but Castiel had read the truth on his face pretty clearly.

“Good class, pretzelboy?” Smith asked, his eyes fixed on the television, a commercial for a men’s body spray that promised to make you a sex magnet.

“Good enough.” Castiel passed Smith a handful of bills. “Here’s my half of the rent.”

Smith counted the money and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “On time, too. It’s a miracle.” Smith took a sip of imported beer. “I guess this means you won’t be getting your car fixed anytime soon. If you were smart you’d sell it for scrap. Lease something made this century.”

“No one ever accused me of being smart.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.” Smith slapped the couch next to him. “Come on. There’s a Dr. Sexy marathon on. You’re just in time for the one where the dude has the brain tumor and Piccolo thinks she’s preggers. Grab us each a beer. I’ll let you rub my feet.”

“Sorry. I have plans.” And he was sorry. He loved it when Smith let him touch him. Castiel dumped his equipment in his bedroom.

“Plans?” Smith yelled after him, sounding offended and suspicious. “What plans?”

Castiel stepped into the bathroom, turned on the shower and began to strip. Smith didn’t like him shutting the bathroom door all the way. He claimed it was so he ‘wouldn’t overdose and die on my floor,’ but it made Castiel wonder. And hope.

“I’m going out.” He didn’t want to get into the deal he’d made with Dean, and he certainly didn’t want to explain why anyone would make such an offer in the first place. He wasn’t clear on Dean’s motives himself. Nobody did over six grand worth of work just to be nice. He wondered how bad these AA meetings were going to get.

“Well don’t let your ‘plans’ keep you up too late,” Smith said as Castiel tested the water temperature. “You know the rules. If you’re not ready by 7:00am you’re walking, like the rest of the peasants.”

As Castiel stepped into the spray he smiled. Smith sounded jealous.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean pulled the Impala up to the address Cas had texted, a swanky new apartment complex on a cul-de-sac near the golf course. Dean let out a low whistle as he looked at the stone exterior and lush landscaping. The rent probably cost twice what Sam’s place did. How much did yoga instructors make, anyway? It couldn’t be much. If he was shelling out for an apartment here, no wonder he couldn’t afford to get his car fixed.

Cas slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. “Let’s go. Let’s go.” He glanced back at the complex and made little sweeping motions with his hands.

Dean shrugged at his impatience and pulled onto the street just as Back in Black came over the stereo. He glanced at Cas, who was wearing a loose collarless shirt and had a bunch of wooden beads wound across his wrist.

“That’s a pretty blouse. What are you dressed for? The summer of love?”

“Says the man whose own style is as current as my wrecked car.”

“Shut up! The ‘70s are timeless.”

“By definition, you’re couldn’t be more wrong.”

“You hungry?” Dean asked. “We got time if you want drive thru.”

“No thanks. I ate before I left.”

“Me too.” Dean craned his neck up to read a street sign and turned. “Not much though. I’m actually kinda nervous.” He found it oddly easy to talk to Cas. Maybe having seen some of the man’s vices helped him know he wouldn’t be judged. Or if he were it’d be in that flat teasing voice that he was starting to really like. Dean chewed a lip. He did, didn’t he? Really like Cas, that is. Ugh. This whole meeting deal might have been a bad idea.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you, Dean.”

“Huh?” Dean came out of his thoughts in time to make the turn onto Massachusetts St.

“I said nobody’s going to hurt you.”

“I know.” Dean turned again and started looking at the street numbers, trying not to think about the fact that Cas had already hurt him once. “Stupid, right?”

“It’s not stupid to fear the unknown. I’m a little nervous myself.”

“What’ve you got to be nervous about?” Dean didn’t believe in nervous Cas. The guy was gorgeous, sociable, and a tiger in the sack. “You’re good with people. Me, not so much.”

Cas made a snorting laugh. “Good with people? No. I’m really not.”

“I saw you at the bar, man. Trust me, you’re good with people.”

“You saw me dancing by myself at the bar.”

Dean parked the Impala and turned to Cas. He was getting this out there now. “I saw you after that, too. With three women.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Three.”

“Okay. Point taken.” Cas lowered his head, but a smile played across his lips. “Although the coke may have played a role in that. People on drugs find me very likable.”

“Come off it, Cas. I liked you without any coke. Hell, I’d only had the one drink that night.” Dean felt the air in the car start to become uncomfortably thick.  He nodded to an easily recognizable grey building across the street. “Anyway, that’s the address from the website.”

Cas smiled, all teeth and gums. “The atheist meeting is in a church?”

Dean’s eyes sparkled. He loved Cas’ smile. “Okay, sure, that’s weird. But I bet a lot of tonight is gonna be weird.” He stepped out of the car and came around to open the passenger door before he realized what he was doing. He was treating this like a date, which it definitely wasn’t. He opened the door anyway and Cas sat staring at him.

“You comin’ or am I workin’ on a different car tomorrow?” he prodded, trying to swallow his embarrassment.

“Heaven forbid I miss out on this,” Cas deadpanned.

As they reached the exterior of the church Cas paused. “Mind if I smoke first?’

Dean, whose feet seemed reluctant to carry him inside, was glad of the delay. “Yeah. Sure.” He paused, and then narrowed his eyes at Cas. “Tobacco, right?”

“Yeah.” Cas laughed. “I figured showing up stoned might be frowned upon. Was I wrong?”

***

Loitering outside the church, Castiel pulled out a crumpled package and slid the last cigarette from it. Cupping his hands to block the breeze he lit it and took a drag. He was going to AA. Smith would be laughing his ass off if he knew.

He’d done the math. Each meeting was 90 minutes long, so he needed about 47 of them to cover the labor on his car. If Dean wanted to go to a meeting every day their deal could be over in seven weeks. If he went to one a week it could take as long as nine months. If he was smart he’d make these meetings as fun for Dean as possible, to get them over fast. It might even be entertaining, in a Fight Club kind of way, hearing about people’s messed up lives. Maybe he’d get some good tips about which drugs mixed poorly with alcohol.

He watched Dean, his hands in his pockets, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. In the dying light he could see his freckles stark across the bridge of his nose. God, he was beautiful. For a moment Cas regretted not taking him up on dinner and a movie. Cas held out the cigarette in a wordless offering. He had a snarky remark about cooties at the ready, but Dean didn’t pause before putting it to his lips and taking a drag.

Cas looked at Dean’s lips. When he was with Smith he usually remembered the explicitly sexual things Dean had done to him, but now he found himself remembering the kissing. He felt a tingle as his blood shifted south and tried to stave it off. Dean probably had no interest after the brush-off he’d given him. And if he’d seen him with those women he knew he wasn’t exactly Mr. Monogamy. And one look at the front of his car probably told Dean what a mental mess he was. No, he had no shot now.

“This shit’ll kill you, ya know,” Dean said, passing the cigarette back.

“Most of the stuff I like will.” Cas finished it with a few quick drags. It was just as well nothing would happen between them. He was beyond repair. Smith had said so.

Inside they followed a trickle of people downstairs where they were greeted by Benny, a burly guy who looked like a longshoreman. In a leisurely bayou accent he asked if they were there for the meeting and if they’d been to one before. Cas was relieved when Dean did the talking. He wasn’t crazy about being outed as an unrepentant drug user. Their talk drifted to other topics and Benny turned out to work at a diner Dean had frequented as a teen.

“I remember that place,” Dean said. “It was, uh,” he paused and gestured as if groping for the words. Dean joined Benny in the line for refreshments and Cas fell into place after him.

“Yeah, yeah. You remember it all right.” Benny helped himself to coffee from a big urn. He grinned, the Styrofoam cup looking tiny in his meaty hand. “But it ain’t the shithole it used to be.”

“Really?” Dean sounded interested. “How so?” He poured a coffee and moved to stand in front of several open boxes of donuts.

“Well I’m cookin’ now, and I make a mean bacon cheeseburger.” Cas couldn’t see him from where he was pouring his own coffee, but Benny sounded smug.

Dean made a moaning sound that sent a familiar heat into Cas’ pants. “Tell me you got pie and I’m all ours.”

Cas turned. Was Dean flirting with the guy? Hot coffee hit his fingers and he pulled his hand back and sucked at the digits. Dean was smiling at Benny, his cheeks adorably dimpled. Cas wondered if that hole in his gut was jealousy, and if so why it was there. He gripped his coffee and turned to the donut box. He was probably just hungry. Despite having eaten before he left. That made more sense than feeling possessive over the hot mechanic he barely knew. Even if that man was throwing himself at some beefy, bearded stranger.

“Apple, pecan, peach.” Benny shrugged. “I’m no Paula Deen, but I do okay on the pie front.”

Cas hated how the man’s beady blue eyes were boring into Dean. He swallowed his inexplicable dislike of Benny and quickly stuffed an entire honey cruller into his mouth.

Dean put an arm on his shoulder. “If you’re that hungry, man, we could’ve stopped for something.”

Cas shook his head and swallowed the pastry. It went down rough. The hand felt warm through his shirt and he was reminded of how Dean had wrapped his arm around his shoulder to get more leverage when they’d…No. He was not going to spend the next ninety minutes reminiscing over their one night stand.

“I just love honey crullers,” he heard himself saying, “And graham crackers. And baklava. Honey in general, actually.” God, could he just shut up?

“Okay, Pooh Bear.” Dean chuckled. “Let’s grab a seat at the back.” Cas moved along the quickly filling rows and Dean darted back to grab the last honey cruller before following.

“Benny seems cool,” Dean said, his eyes shining.  “We should check out his diner. Maybe sometime after a meeting.”

“I can hardly wait.”

A short bearded man introduced himself as Chuck and explained that tonight’s meeting would focus on the fourth of the twelve steps, making a personal inventory. Cas imagined pinched-face accountants wandering through his psyche, counting his transgressions. Three hundred instances of selfishness. Eight hundred moments of self-indulgence. Two thousand nights of lust. He wondered what they’d make of tonight’s display of possessiveness and jealousy.

A dark haired woman stood up and leered at the room. She was pretty, in a dangerous kind of way.

“Hi. My name is Meg, and I’m an addict. Booze, drugs, I like it all.” The group greeted Meg and she talked for three minutes about the moment she realized she’d made all the wrong friends. Cas thought about his own friends, Gabriel and Balthazar. Like Smith, they would find his attendance at tonight’s meeting cause for hilarity, but they wouldn’t be such dicks about it. Gabriel wouldn’t, anyway. Maybe. He had a serious side, although it didn’t often make an appearance. Balthazar had varying shades of sarcasm and sometimes saved the heaviest levels for when things looked worst. He listened to Meg describe a humiliating incident involving an all-night drinking binge. It reminded him of a long weekend in Acapulco that Balthazar had dragged them on.

Meg finished and a scruffy man named Marv talked about having alienated his family. Cas pushed thoughts of Anna firmly from his mind and finished his coffee. Drugs and alcohol hadn’t played any part in her death. Back then he’d been a wide-eyed innocent, focused on his studies and not much else. The drugs came later, after graduation. He’d forced himself to graduate first. Anna would’ve wanted that. He wondered what she’s make of his current situation.

Fiddling with the empty cup, he began to bite tiny impressions into the rim. By the clock on the wall there was only 30 more minutes before the break. Cas’ stomach made an irritated grumble.

“Here.” Dean leaned in close and passed him the honey cruller, like contraband.

“I can’t take your cruller,” Cas whispered. Although the pastry, nestled in a stiff white napkin, did look pretty appealing.

Cas could feel Dean’s breath on his neck. “I don’t like ‘em, man. I grabbed it for you.”

He stared at the side of Dean’s face and rotated his head as if his behavior was going to make sense from another angle. Cas wasn’t used to people being considerate of him. It felt suspect. Tentatively he accepted the pastry and began to eat it.

“Next time we’re definitely feeding you first.” Dean put an arm across the back of his chair and rubbed Cas’ shoulder. Cas leaned against him. This was really close to cuddling. Cas ate his cruller and listened to people discuss their progress with their personal inventories. He imagined this is what it would’ve been like if he’d taken Dean up on that offer to go to the movies.

Benny approached them again after the meeting.

“Whad y’all think?”

“Honesty, eh?” Dean looked almost embarrassed, but Cas wasn’t sure if it was the idea of a searching and fearless moral inventory that had Dean blushing or whether it was Benny himself.

“One of the steps, brother.”

Dean leaned toward Benny. “So then level with me,” he glanced at the slowly dwindling crowd and back to the big man. “This shit really work?”

“It works if you work it.” Benny slapped them both on the back. “Just keep comin’ back.”

Dean put a hand on Cas’ arm, stalling his progress toward the door. “Hang on, would ya, I wanna talk to that Chuck guy a minute.”

As Cas watched Dean amble over to Chuck he licked his lips, tasting honeyed sugar. He liked Dean. He was considerate, and funny. Chuck introduced Dean to some people next to him and Cas watched Dean grimace at something Meg said and laugh at something Chuck said. Dean’s feelings were so genuine, not just a mask he wore to move up another rung on the corporate ladder. It was refreshing. He didn’t think Dean would have any problem making an honest self-inventory.

Cas watched Dean’s hands move as he told a story and a scary thought occurred to him. Maybe the version of him that was hung up on Smith could have died hitting that utility pole. Maybe he could be someone who went on real dates with guys like Dean. Guys who saved honey crullers for him.

Cas thought about the theme of the meeting. If he were doing the steps—which he definitely was not—he’d have to admit that he had commitment issues. A therapist he’d seen once for about six months had connected his behavior directly with losing Anna, and Cas was beginning to think that maybe the guy hadn’t been full of shit like he’d thought back then. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex with the same person twice. Did Balthazar count? They’d been at the same orgy a few times, although they hadn’t hooked up with each other. This was new territory. Dean felt like someone he could be close with. And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous and great in bed. Cas could see himself sharing popcorn in the dark with Dean on multiple occasions.

“Hello.” Cas turned to see a thin brunette woman staring at him. She introduced herself as Hannah. “Benny tells me this was your first meeting. What did you think?”

Cas shifted uncomfortably. “It’s…a lot of food for thought.”

Hannah nodded. “So you think it’s a waste of time, then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She smiled, quick and perfunctory. “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to recruit you. You’d have me drinking again before I’d have you sober.”

“I don’t know about that," Cas said. “I might not be 100% on board with abstinence but I try my best not to drag anyone down with me.” He looked anxiously toward where Dean was laughing with Chuck. Whatever happened between them, he needed to make sure he didn’t distract Dean from his goals. He couldn’t forgive himself if that happened.

On the street after the meeting Cas breathed in the cool air and slid into the Impala, his stomach quivering. He was going to do this. This was him, asking for more.

“So…want to go to your place?”

“My place?” Dean looked frozen, his eyes wide.

“Yeah. Your place.” He certainly didn’t want to take Dean back to his place. Not with Smith there. Although if he and Dean started dating regularly maybe that would happen too. But right now he just wanted Dean naked on top of him. Or holding his hand while they watched a movie. Whatever, really.

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean sounded shocked, which was odd considered how they’d met. What they’d already done to each other.

“I’m trying to be honest,” Cas said. “Like the meeting suggested.”

***

Dean let out a stuttered breath. Damn, the way Cas’d said ‘your place’ made it sound deliciously filthy. But his mention of honesty brought back all Dean’s broken hopes. He thought back to when that damn number turned out to be bogus. He hadn’t been so disappointed since Aaron. Hell. Maybe even before prison. Dean remembered how hard he’d come that night at the bathhouse and how he’d felt seeing Cas leave the bar with those women. He thought about his Big Gay Wall of Crazy.

And now the guy he couldn’t stop thinking about was offering no-strings sex and Dean was gonna turn him down. Fuck, his life sucked.

One of the pamphlets Sam had pushed on him had mentioned some acronym of conditions that might lead to drinking, but the only ones he could remember right now were hungry and lonely. He had no problem eating, and turning Cas down now would prevent the soul-crushing lonely aftermath that led to drinking himself into oblivion. Even if it meant his bed would be empty tonight. It was simple self-defense.

“Look Cas, you’re amazing in bed. I mean…Jeez.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “But you and me....” He searched for a polite way to refer to Cas’ abrupt post-sex disinterest. “…we don’t work, obviously. You’re not into me apart from the sex, right? Or else you would’a called.” The way I tried to call you, he wanted to add, but didn’t.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, Dean.”

Damn. Dean’s pulse raced. How was it possible for a guy’s voice to growl like that?

“No worries. Really. It’s fine. ” He sighed. “I’ll see you next week, okay?” He tried to smile, but it felt more like he was gritting his teeth at Cas.

“Of course.” Cas looked disappointed and that made Dean feel shittier than he already did. But the guy would get past it. Someone like Cas could get sex anytime he wanted. He’d just have to get it from someone else. Dean drove in silence, that idea slowly eating a hole in his heart.

“Listen,” Cas said once they’d pulled in front of his building, “we could go to a meeting whenever you want. I’m totally flexible.”

Dean frowned. “Is that a yoga joke?”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Cas smiled, all wrinkled eyes and teeth, and stepped out of the car. “And thank-you again for the honey cruller.”

“My pleasure, Cas.” Dean waved goodbye and pulled away before he changed his mind about the sex.

***

Two days later Cas was lying on the couch, about to light a joint when his phone beeped with a text from Dean.

_Meeting tonight? 7pm?_

Cas looked at the joint. He could do a lot of things high but attend an AA meeting probably wasn’t one of them.

_I’m all yours._

_Grab a burger first?_

Cas smiled. A burger before the meeting. That was almost a date.

_Sure._

_See you @6?_

_@6._

“What’s got you all smiley?” Smith demanded. “Plane full of weed coming in from Mexico?”

“None of your business.” Cas put the joint back in its box and went to pick something nicer to wear.

***

Dean bit his lip and squinted at his calendar, which now occupied the place his stalker map had been. He and Cas had hit six meetings in twelve days, and he hadn’t been drinking. At all. He wondered how much of that was the meetings and how much was having something better to do, like hang out with Cas.

This wasn’t a date, he reminded himself. This was just two guys grabbing something to eat before a meeting. And hanging out afterwards. Two guys who’d once had amazing sex.

Dean pulled a black dress shirt from his closet and stared at it. Was it too much? It wasn’t like he was gonna wear a tie.  Would a t-shirt be better? Or did it even matter what he wore, since this absolutely wasn’t a date?

There might have been some small amount of sexual tension. Cause hey, Dean wasn’t made of stone and Cas had those eyes and that sex hair and that silky skin, and that jaw he just wanted to—the point was, there’d been some tension. But he was handling it. Usually during his morning showers. And sometimes late in the evenings. That was the great thing about masturbation; it practically came with a label that read, ‘Use as needed.’

There was a light knock at his open door and Dean turned to see his brother stooping in the door frame.

“Hey Sam.”

“Hey.” Sam came in and sat on the bed.  “So…you’ve been going to meetings.”

Dean sighed. “Yep, I have. Happy?”

“I am, actually.” Sam smiled. “I definitely notice a difference in how much recycling we have.”

Dean looked at his watch. “In fact, Cas and I are hitting one tonight. So if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna grab a shower and dress.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Sam said. “The dressing up. Is there someone you’re hoping to impress?”

Dean shrugged. “Can’t show up looking like a derelict, man.”

Sam frowned. “Who’s Cas?”

“He’s uh, like a sobriety buddy.” There was no way in Hell Dean was about to mention their one night stand to Sam. That situation, and the feelings attached to it, were gonna stay locked in a box, and sunk in the bottom of a lake.

“So you go to meetings together.”

“Yeah. Sometimes grab a bite before. Hang out after. Talk about stuff.” Fantasize about kissing. You know. The usual.

“I see.”

Dean glanced at his alarm clock. “Look Sam, I’d love to talk steps and whatnot with you, but I’m on a timeline here.”

Sam held up his palms. “Hey, don’t let me stop you.” He stepped aside, but Dean could see the awesome power of Sam’s brain come alive behind his eyes.

Sam was gonna chew this ‘dressing up for Cas’ thing right to death. Dean just knew it.

***

Smith checked his watch. 18:04. He jotted down the license number of the black Impala. This was the fifth time he’d spotted Impala guy lurking around, and Smith noticed that Castiel always waited in the parking lot until the guy showed up. The only thing that made Castiel that eager was drugs or sex. And since he’d seen the car more than once it had to be drugs. Castiel didn’t do encores when it came to sex, and he wasn’t capable of a relationship. So that guy in the gas-guzzling musclecar was probably Castiel’s dealer. Smith pressed his lips into a tight line. This sort of thing was what got tenants kicked out of high-class apartments in good neighborhoods. He’d have to put a stop to it.

***

Dean drove them to a diner near the university and led the way to a booth in back. Their waitress was a blonde with an eyebrow piercing.  She slid a paper placemat in front of each of them and pinned it to the table with a glass of water. Cas ordered a burger and a strawberry milkshake. Dean ordered a burger with a side of onion rings and a Coke.

“Your car’s coming along,” Dean said, leaning forward across the orange Formica tabletop “Just waiting on some parts.”

“That’s good.” Cas sipped his water. It was tepid.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean picked up a laminated specials menu and perused it. “We’ve been doing a lot of social stuff in addition to the meetings.”

Cas felt his cheeks ache. Yes, they had. Was this Dean making a move to name it something? Were they going to date?

Dean put the menu back in the metal holder and shifted in the booth. “I just thought…well it seems unfair that…I think we should count the social time too. For the purposes of the deal. One hour for one hour.”

“Oh. I see.” Right. The deal.

“Anyway, I did the math, and I figure it’s been more like, 18 or 20 hours instead of 9.”

“That’s…that’s great. Thanks.” This was not great. If Dean was anxious to fill up the hours then would he still want to spend time together? Cas wasn’t so sure. Maybe he’d served his purpose already. Dean seemed to be getting more comfortable going to the meetings all the time. Soon he’d want to go alone, wouldn’t he?

“You like this place?” Dean asked, apropos of nothing.  When Cas raised his eyes to meet his he added, “The diner?”

Cas nodded. “Yeah. It’s kitchy. I might not have chosen orange and blue as my color scheme, but they make it work.”

“Kitchy. Is that good?”

“Yeah. It’s good. Do _you_ like the diner?”

“I do. Dad used to take us to places like this all the time. We were on the road a lot, so to me a diner is like home. I know what I’m gettin’, food-wise.” The waitress brought his milkshake and Dean’s Coke and Dean winked a thank-you, making her blush. ”And it’s usually got friendly women,” he added once she was gone.

“Do you date women?” Cas asked.

“Oh yeah.” Dean took a long suck of his soda. “I mean, I used to.” He shrugged. “But I don’t date much of anyone anymore.”

“Oh.” Cas was curious about what might have happened to make Dean stop dating, but that train of thought stirred up all Cas’ guilt about having given him a fake number. Because it sounded like Dean had wanted to date. Before he got to know him better, anyway.

“What ‘Oh’?” Dean stopped eating, which in itself was alarming.

“I’ve only ever seen you with men is all.”

Dean pulled a face. “Who’ve you seen me with? Other than you?”

Cas’ brow furrowed as he thought back. “There was that guy at the bar. Tall, shaggy hair?”

“My brother, Sam. Try again.”

Right. Now that he thought about it he did recall Dean saying something about his brother that night. Although to be fair, the details were fuzzy. He blamed the speedball.

“Well,” Cas said, using the last weapon in his arsenal, “there’s Benny.”

“Benny? From the meeting, Benny? What makes you think I like him?”

Cas smiled around his milkshake straw. “Maybe because you act like a teenage girl when he comes over?”

Dean frowned. “I do not.” He sucked angrily at his drink. “Do I?”

“You kind of do. I believe the next phase is doodling his name all over your schoolbooks.”

Dean leaned in and dropped his voice low. “You jealous, Cas?”

Cas nodded. “More than I thought I’d be.”

Dean leaned back, eyebrows raised, and Cas felt a surge of triumph. Dean hadn’t expected that much honesty, apparently. The waitress came by with their food. Dean was so lost in thought that he barely acknowledged her.

“Dean, food,” Cas reminded him.

“Right.” Dean beamed down at his burger, gripped it in both hands and took a large bite. He chewed, groaning obscenely. “Mmmm,” he mumbled. “Better’n sex.”

Cas looked unconvinced. “Better than sex? Really?”

Dean blushed more than Cas had ever seen before. “Well, better than most sex,” he said before attacking the burger again.

Cas ate. In his opinion this burger was vastly inferior to his memory of having sex with Dean Winchester. He sucked at his milkshake to clear the greasy taste from his mouth. Of course if Dean didn’t feel the same then he’d rather not know it. He nudged the conversation in a different direction.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why do you go to these meetings, anyway?”

Dean popped an onion ring into his mouth and wiped his fingers on his paper napkin. “Like I said, Sam and Bobby got it into their heads that I had a problem and—”

“That’s why  _they_ wanted you to go,”Cas cut him off. “I’m asking why you actually _go_.”

Dean picked up his burger, paused, then set it back on his plate. “The truth? I didn’t wanna turn into my dad.”

“He drinks?” Cas tried to imagine what Dean’s father might be like. Dean was so genuine and open.  Was he rebelling against someone more rigid, or was he emulating someone he admired?

“Oh yeah! Like it was the antidote for bein’ broke. He drank ‘til it killed him.” Dean took a bite of burger. “Ow bow yu?”

Cas thought about his own father, who had left shortly after he was born. Cas knew him only through the stories his older siblings told and the few personal items he hadn’t bothered to take with him. But he found it difficult to resent his father’s absence. A commitment to maintaining relationships wasn’t exactly one of his strong points either. Cas supposed he was emulating, but lately he’d been wondering if he might be happier rebelling.

“Why do I go?” Dean nodded as Cas chased a mouthful of burger with milkshake. “Well, this guy I know said he’d fix my car.”

“That the only reason?” 

Cas sucked hard at his milkshake to give himself time to think. He couldn’t tell Dean that part of his motivation was wanting to sleep with him again. He’d already shot that down. And his newfound crush was too embarrassing, so that was off the table. He heard the gurgling sound that signaled the end of his shake and sat back, hand to his head as the ice cream headache had its way with him.

“I realized…” Cas was tempted to tell him about Smith. How the only man he’d ever loved couldn’t love him back. How he found solace in being numb and getting laid and doing Smith’s laundry and cooking his dinners. He looked across the table at Dean and suddenly felt too raw, too exposed. “…my life had become unmanageable,” he finished, reciting the first step of the program. “Ow. This really hurts.”

“You do it to yourself, Cas.” Dean laughed. Cas liked the way Dean laughed with his whole body, throwing his head back and then bending forward. Cas laughed too, and it felt real.

Dean looked at his watch. “Holy crap. We gotta go.” Dean flagged their waitress and asked for the bill. He stuffed the last of his onion rings into his mouth and gestured to Cas’ unfinished burger. “You gon finiff dat?”

Cas shook his head.  “I don’t know what they did to yours,” he said, “but mine is definitely not as good as sex.”

Dean shook his head when Cas opened his wallet. “I got it.” He tossed some bills on the table and then wrapped an arm around him as they left the diner. Cas thought this was as close to a second date as he’d ever had, and he liked it, very much.


	5. Chapter 5

It was closing in on 23:00 when Smith heard a key in the lock and felt his adrenaline race. Castiel was home. He hit the switch to the living room lamp, feeling cool, like a character in a movie.

“Little early for you,” he said as Castiel slipped inside the apartment. “Date crash and burn?”

Castiel paused, reeking of guilt, like a teen caught sneaking in drunk after curfew. Smith knew he must be right, but if Impala guy was Castiel’s drug connection he should be all ‘Ground control to Major Tom’ by now, and Castiel didn’t look high. It was a little eerie actually, seeing him come home sober before midnight.

“Like you care,” Castiel muttered.

“Of course I care,” Smith said. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Sure we are.” Castiel waited until he was almost in his room to add, “Dean and I are friends too.”

Dean. The Impala guy was named Dean. And Smith was 85% sure he was the reason for all the back talk he was getting from Castiel lately. He made a mental note to get one of the eggheads in tech support to look into this Dean tomorrow.

***

Castiel pulled off his shoes and couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up his throat. Smith had called them friends. Why on Earth had he done that? He and Smith hadn’t been friends for years. What did you call someone you’d give your left nut to be with, who couldn’t care less about you, but wouldn’t let you go no matter how you degraded yourself? He had no idea. Maybe Smith didn’t either.

He checked his alarm clock and padded to the bathroom. As the electric toothbrush coursed over his teeth, he thought. He’d called Dean a friend. Was that true? Maybe. Friends helped friends, and Dean was definitely helping him out with the car situation. But was he really helping Dean? He remembered how easily Dean had connected with people at their first AA meeting, and how eagerly people welcomed him tonight. He didn’t need Castiel now, if he ever had. But he’d enjoyed grabbing dinner, and whispering jokes, and having coffee after. So were they friends? Maybe. But they weren’t as friendly as he’d like them to be.

Castiel spit into the sink and rinsed his mouth. When he headed back to his room the lamp in the living room was off. Smith must have gone to bed, unless he was still sitting in the dark, playing Film Noir hero. Somehow so many of the things Smith did lately just grated on his nerves. Castiel went to his bedroom and stripped, tossing his clothes into the hamper.

In the beginning he was only interested in Dean for how he reminded him of Smith. But the more he’d gotten to know him the more he liked him as an individual. Apart from their physical similarities Dean was nothing like Smith. Dean was smart like Smith, but he’d never tried to make him feel stupid. Dean was generous, but he refused to make him feel indebted. Dean teased, but with affection, not disgust. He liked Dean. Maybe more than liked. Castiel collapsed backward onto his mattress and rolled his eyes. Who was he trying to kid? He was falling hard. He wouldn’t say he was over Smith, but inside, some part of him was coming back to life. And like a muscle reviving after having been starved of oxygen, it was bound to hurt. Normally his response to pain was to medicate it, but this time he wondered if maybe he should just…lean in.

***

Wesson looked up from his laptop to see Smith, the Director of Sales and Marketing, looming over his cubicle. He recognized him from his terrible karaoke performance of I’m Too Sexy at the office holiday party last year.

Of course the great thing about Sandover was that you didn’t need to know who someone was to place them within the hierarchy. Wesson could have pegged Smith as an executive by his fancy shirt and ties, his spray tan, and his bonded teeth. Similarly, nobody had to read Wesson’s job description; his yellow polyester polo shirt told them all they needed to know. The only question he had was why Smith had come to his cubicle instead of summoning him upstairs. Techs usually got summoned.

Wesson tried to look busy with work and simultaneously available to help. It was a skill he’d perfected.

“Hey,” Smith slapped a tattoo on the top of his cubicle wall, “it’s West, right?”

“Wesson.” Smith had gotten a whole syllable correct. He must have made an impression. 

“Whatever. Got a job for you. I need anything you can scrape up on the owner of a black Impala.” He passed over a scrap of paper with the license number scrawled across it. “Dean somebody.”

Wesson’s brow wrinkled. “Is this for work?”

Smith's lips widened to show his shiny white teeth. “Would I come to you with some kind of personal bullshit?” Smith’s features dropped any semblance of collegiality. “Just do it.”

Wesson started to type.

Smith waited, looking around the Habitrail of cubicles and then glancing at his expensive watch.

“This is gonna take a while,” Wesson told him. Especially the part where he had to call his contact inside the DMV. The last time he’d called Frank the guy had ranted for an hour about how secret government laboratories were cloning people. Wesson found it difficult to believe anyone would go to the bother and expense of creating a clone of him or anyone else just to have it live a boring life in Kansas. Wesson sighed. Maybe he should’ve gone to law school like his friend Brady did.

"How long a while?" 

“I’ll email you when I’ve got something solid,” he assured Smith.

Smith looked annoyed and ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, buzz me on the phone the second you’ve got something.” He moved toward the door, paused, and then leaned back over the grey divider. “The uh, juicier the better, huh?”

***

At their next meeting Cas and Dean had just grabbed coffees when they spotted Benny, Meg, and Chuck, clustered together. Benny waved them over. Cas tried not to show the dread he was feeling. As far as he was concerned, the less time Dean spent around Benny the better. Of course he realized he was biased in that assessment.

“Gather ‘round, boys,” Benny said. “We’re celebrating.” He wrapped a meaty arm around Meg. “Our sister here just got her six month NA chip.”

“Chip?”

“Sobriety markers,” Chuck explained. “We don’t do them here, but the local NA group does.”

Meg tossed a sobriety coin in the air and caught it again. “Yep.” She smirked. “This and a dollar and I can buy a cup of coffee.”

“Where do you get coffee for a dollar?” Cas asked, curious.

Meg looked at Cas as if noticing him for the first time. “Stick around and maybe I’ll let you in on all my secrets.” She held out a hand. “I’m Meg.”

“I know.” Cas shook her hand and gave a curt nod. “I heard you speak the other week.”

“Right. The Mexico trip.” She groaned and rolled her eyes. “If you catch me talking about that again, just stab me in the eye.”

“That seems…extreme.”

A grizzled black man in a blue dress shirt approached. “We gonna get this show on the road or we gonna stand around gabbin’ all night?”

“We’ve got five more minutes,” Chuck assured him. He nodded toward Dean and Cas. “We were just telling these newcomers about Meg’s six month chip.”

The man shook hands with Cas and Dean, his grip firm and energetic. “Name’s Rufus. Nice to meet you.” Dean and Cas introduced themselves by first name.

Rufus turned to Meg. “Six month already? _Mazel tov_.”

“Thanks.”

Rufus turned to Dean. “So how about you then? You working the program?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m still uh, getting my sea legs. Scoping things out.”

Rufus’ eyes narrowed. “You going to meetings though?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then what’re you waiting for? You’re here. Might as well do it.”

Dean laughed. “You make a convincing argument.”

Rufus turned to Cas. “How about you? What step are you on?”

“I, uh, I think I’m still on the lawn, looking at the steps.” Cas was surprised he'd told them the truth when he easily could have made something up on the spot. Maybe all the talk about honesty had gotten to him.

Rufus threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable. More wishy-washy. You and mister finding-his-sea-legs get it together and maybe we can talk.” He stalked off in the direction of the coffee urn.

“So,” Meg purred, leaning in toward Dean, “are you and Cas messing up the sheets together? ‘Cause I’m getting a sticky fingers vibe here.”

Cas cocked his head and his eyes widened. He hadn't tried to be closeted at these meetings, but he thought he'd been discreet to make it easier for Dean. He wondered if Meg had picked up on their body language. Were they telegraphing their history with their long looks and close proximity?  Or, he realized, it might be how they seemed to cuddle up at the back of every meeting. Yeah. That might be it. He turned to Dean, unsure of how much to reveal.

Dean’s mouth hardened. “How ‘bout it’s none of your business?” 

Cas felt melty inside as he realized that Dean wasn't denying anything.

Chuck wheezed a nervous laugh. “Whoa there, guys.”

Benny shook his head as if it weighted a ton. “Boundaries, sister. Remember those?”

“I don’t think Meg is being malicious,” Cas said. “I think she’s just naturally curious.” 

Meg turned her big dark eyes on him. “Well ain’t you a sweet talker? Maybe we can go for a Shirley Temple sometime and I can show you how we do things on the Good Ship Lollipop.”

Cas smiled. “I’m already aware of how things are run aboard that ship. But I appreciate the offer.”

Meg moved her jaw as of savoring something. "You more a 'rum, sodomy and the lash' sort of guy Cas?"

Cas wondered if she was aware of the quote sometimes attributed to Winston Churchill or if she just liked The Pogues. "Never cared for rum," Cas said slowly.

Chuck let out a spluttering cough, looked at his watch and announced they’d better get started. Dean and Cas took their usual spot in the back, together, and Cas wondered it he should be worried that he already felt like they had a usual spot. Dean put his arm around the back of Cas’ chair and leaned in, his lips almost brushing Cas' ear.

"Sodomy and the lash, huh Cas? Maybe take me out to dinner first, huh?"

Cas blushed, a thrill racing up his spine. If a little banter with Meg was all it took to get Dean this flirty he'd have done it sooner.

They sat quietly together while Chuck did his introduction and welcomed new members.

After a few minutes Dean spoke, his voice low so as not to compete with Chuck’s spiel. “I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ a sponsor.”

Cas whispered back. “Who’d you have in mind?”

“Actually, I wanted your opinion on that. Who do you think would be a good pick?”

Cas scanned the sea of heads in front of them. “Chuck seems nice, and he knows the program. You and Benny have a good rapport.” Please not Benny he thought. Please not Benny. “Even Meg’s successfully sober, despite her air of debauchery.”

“Not Meg.” Dean chuckled, low. “I’d have to be half in the bag just to spend more than ten minutes with her. Who would you pick?”

Cas bit a lip. “If I were doing the steps?” Which was a ridiculous thought, right? He wasn’t in recovery. He just hadn’t been using or drinking recently. There was a difference, he was pretty sure. Dean and these other people here, they were trying. He was just…sober due to circumstances. Chuck had introduced the topic of the meeting, which was step 5, about personal integrity, and then handed the floor to Rufus.

“Yeah.”

Cas didn’t hesitate. “Hannah.”

“Hannah. Hannah?” Dean’s brow wrinkled. “Weird robotic chick? Dresses like a Jehovah’s Witness?” 

Cas tried not to smile, and kept his eyes glued on Rufus' stern face as he talked about admitting your wrongdoings to someone, which helped. “Yeah.” 

“Why her?”

“She's blunt as an axe handle and we have zero sexual chemistry. Plus, she can tell when I’m lying.”

“It’s not rocket surgery,” Rufus was saying now. “For me, it was simple. Man up and fess up.”

Dean nodded and Cas felt him rub his shoulder. “Being a human lie detector's a good skill for a sponsor to have, I s’pose.”

And now Cas began to wonder. If he kept going to meetings would people expect him to have a sponsor? And wouldn’t that make this whole pretense a little too real? And how real had it become already?

***

Gabriel put a coffee in front of him and, starred accusingly across the little café table.

“What?” Cas demanded, tired of feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“Nothing.” Gabriel sipped his coffee and wiped the foam from his upper lip. “You look good. Clear eyes. Healthy skin. If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d cleaned up your act. Haven’t found religion or something, have you?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Yes, Gabe. I’ve joined the Quakers. Can I interest thee in a pamphlet?” He picked up his coffee and sipped it, trying not to think about the fact that it’d been sixteen days since he’d had any drugs or alcohol. He wasn’t being abstinent on purpose exactly. He just liked to be ready in case Dean wanted to go to a meeting.

“Okay, fine. Whatever you’re doing, it looks good on you.” “You haven’t met someone, have you?”

“You sound so encouraging.”

“Hey! I’m encouraging. Anyone is better than that Smith jerk you’ve been panting after for years. God, It’s not him, is it?”

“No. It’s not Smith.” Cas quelled a laugh.

Gabriel smiled, triumphant. “So there is someone.”

“Maybe.” Cas decided that was as much as he was willing to admit. If he spilled any details Gabriel and Balthazar would tease him mercilessly. Somehow whatever it was he had with Dean felt too important and too fragile to joke about.

“I like them already. Boy? Girl? A sexy blend?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Let’s meet them.”

“Who are we meeting?” A lanky blonde wearing a plunging v-neck shirt and dark glasses collapsed into a chair next to him. Cas might have supposed Balthazar was trying to look like a movie star, but more likely he’d grabbed the first clean shirt he’d found. Possibly not his own.

“Cassie’s secret lover.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but felt his chest tighten. The idea of Dean as his lover wasn’t repellant, which for him was practically picking out a ring. He hoped this wasn’t shaping up to be another Smith situation. He’d had his fill of pining for someone he couldn’t have. Although if he was going to switch pining for Smith with pining for Dean he was definitely trading up.

“Sounds yummy.” The blonde picked up the menu. “Why aren’t we drinking? I almost didn’t recognize you two without the booze.”

Gabriel took a sip of his coffee. “I needed a caffeine bump. Preferably one with a caramel shot.” He licked his lips clean again. “Besides, it’s like, only two in the afternoon, isn’t it?”

“The sun is well over the yardarm, love.” Balthazar turned his dark lenses toward him. “What’s your excuse? Or is there whisky in yours?”

Gabriel smiled, wide, like a shark. “Oh, didn’t you know? Little Cassie’s become a Quaker. He’s giving up drugs, alcohol, and fornication.”

Balthazar sighed. “Sounds like weekends at Mother’s. Absolutely ghastly!”

“And I’m no longer going to war,” Cas added. “Quakers are pacifists.”

Balthazar shifted heavily in his chair, jostling the table, and Gabe and Cas reached out to protect their drinks.

“At least one of us is getting some peace,” he said. ”I’ve had none. Wait until you hear about the night I had. Debauched, even by my standards.” He looked over the top of his dark glasses at Cas. “Shouldn’t you shield your born-again ears?” Something in his tone made Cas wonder if Balthazar knew they were only pulling his leg about the Quaker thing.

“Of course not,” Cas said smugly. “How can I turn you from sin unless I know how deep in its clutches you are? I need details. Juicy juicy details.”

***

Dean woke to the smell of bacon and emerged from his bedroom to discover that Sam had made bacon, coffee, and chocolate chip pancakes.

“Oh my chocolate gods!” Dean said, eyeing the spread. “Have I told you lately what an awesome little brother you are, Sammy?”

“Not recently.” Sam pushed a loaded plate across to him. “But feel free.”

“I would, you know,” Dean said, smiling down at the pancakes as he anointed them with syrup, “but right now I have some serious eating to do.” He tucked in.

Sam sat across from Dean at the small kitchen island and poked at his own breakfast. Dean frowned across at the pate. His brother wasn’t eating pancakes. It looked like…was that…was that tofu?

“Listen,” Sam said, “I know you’re Mr. 'Bottle It All Up Inside,’ but we need to talk.”

Dean sighed and slouched in his chair. The pancakes were a trap. He should’ve known.

“Gimmie a break, man. I’m going to the meetings. I haven’t been drinking. What more do you want?”

Sam crossed his arms, a sure sign that Pissy Sam was about to pay a visit. “I want to have the talk I tried to have with you last night. Before you practically ran out the door?”

“I don’t make the AA schedules, Sam, and time has this funny way of moving forward.” Sam gave him intense bitchface and Dean stuffed his mouth full of pancakes while he could still enjoy them.

“I’m just…” Sam rolled his eyes as if Dean was the one forcing him to have this conversation, instead of the other way around. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea to be dating someone you met in AA.”

“Cas and I aren’t dating.” Dean bit the end off a strip of crispy bacon and chewed with his mouth open because he knew it annoyed Sam. 

Sam’s bitchface continued unabated. “And yet, you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“What? He’s a friend. A good friend.”

“A friend.” Sam said the word like he’d never heard it before. “That you dress up and shower before seeing? What’s your sponsor think about this friendship?”

“I uh, actually don’t have a sponsor yet.”

“Really?” Sam frowned. “Shouldn’t you get on that?”

Dean raised a hand. “Slow it up. I’ll get there. I just need to pick the right person, you know?”

“As long as it’s not Cas.”

“Look, whatever your beef is, it’s with me, not with Cas. So stop being such a douche about him. Seriously.”

“I’m only thinking about your sobriety, Dean.”

“I appreciate that, Sammy. I do. But you’re not thinkin’ about it nearly as much as I am. Trust me on this.”

Dean stabbed his pancakes and stuffed them resentfully into his mouth. Sam was being unreasonable. Cas was half the reason he’d been sober as long as he had. Cas was good for him. Okay, maybe he wasn’t exactly a sobriety friend the way he’d made him out to be. Dean assumed Cas probably used drugs and drank outside of their evenings together. But that wasn’t any kind of a threat the way Sam made it out to be. Was it?

***

Smith poured a generous amount of expensive scotch into two tumblers and set one down in front of Castiel. Things had gotten strained around the apartment lately. Castiel hadn't cleaned in over a week and yesterday he'd had to pick up his own dry cleaning. Clearly, he and Castiel needed some guy time, and getting a little shitfaced and watching some of Castiel's favorite movies while sitting inappropriately close on the couch usually did the trick.

He slapped a hand on Castiel's thigh in what seemed like a suitably heteroflexible zone between knee and crotch. “What’s going on with you? I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.”

“I’ve been busy.” Castiel shifted until he was just out of reach. Smith tried to keep a friendly demeanour, but it was hard with Castiel being so difficult. Smith briefly considered whether he just needed to beat the ever loving shit out of his roommate, but figured it wouldn't hurt to go with Plan A first.

“I noticed. I've kinda been missing you." Spotting the slightest twitch of Castiel's lips, Smith pressed on. "That what this past few weeks have been about? Teaching me a lesson about taking you for granted?  Well lesson learned, babe. I'm sorry."

“There's no lesson intended, Smith. You always said I needed to get a life.”

Smith sipped his scotch. He hated to waste the expensive stuff, but it would show how seriously he took this bonding thing. “That what you’ve been doing every evening? Living it up?”

Cas shrugged. “You know me. Same old same old.”

"Yeah. I know you." Smith stretched out on the sofa and extended an arm, leaving just enough space for Castiel if he turned on his side. "Listen, I've got some free time, why don't we watch Casablanca or Shawshank Redemption or that foreign one you like, get smashed and order pizza? You can even pick off the anchovies."

"Sounds fun," Castiel said. "Especially the part where I don't have to eat your disgusting anchovies. But I'm going to pass." He looked at his watch. "It's almost five-thirty and I'd like to shower. A friend and I are going to check out a diner."

"A diner. Seriously?"

"Yeah. I hear it's not the shit hole it used to be." Castiel stood and left the room.

Smith took a gulp of scotch and glared at the second tumbler. Castiel hadn’t touched it.

***

Dean smiled. Life was feeling pretty sweet right now. He hadn't thought about prison in weeks, his claustrophobia was hardly bothering him at all, and tonight he and Cas were going to check out the diner where Benny worked. He waved a hello to Benny as they entered and grabbed a booth up front by the window. This was the first time he and Cas had met up without plans to go to a meeting afterward. A tiny voice in the back of Dean's head suggested that the lack of meeting made this a date, but he wasn't so sure. Friends just hung out sometimes, didn't they? Cas smiled at him from across his menu and Dean felt his eyes crinkle in response. 

"I think I shall try the basil risotto with  _escargots_ de Bourgogne," Cas said. 

"Where d'you see that?" Dean flipped his menu over and squinted at it.

Cas looked at him incredulously. "I'm kidding, Dean. I'm having the bacon cheeseburger. I assume you are as well?"

"Well yeah. That and pie." He motioned to their waitress and ordered for both of them.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean asked. Cas was staring pensively out the window. That did not bode well for this being a date. "Look like you got something on your mind."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"You sure? Friends help friends. Lay it on me."

Cas turned to look at him and Dean was suddenly staring directly into those enormous blue eyes. "Do you like pizza, Dean?"

"Sure. Prefer burgers, usually, but every so often I get a craving for a good slice. How 'bout you?"

"Do you like anchovies?"

"I'm more a meat lovers guy. Why? You're not thinking of pranking me are you, Cas? Ordering a dozen pizzas to my place? 'Cause I'll warn you now, I won't be able to cover that kind of a joke on my paycheck."

"God, no." Cas squinted hard at the ketchup. "If we did order a pizza, and I didn't like meat on mine, what would you do?"

Dean grinned uncertainly. "You not goin' vegan on me, are you man? Cause that bacon cheeseburger is coming out in like, fifteen minutes."

"What would you do? About the pizza?" Cas looked at him as if he'd just asked the heaviest existential question in the world.

"Okay." Dean sat up straighter. If pizza was important to Cas, then he'd take his question seriously. "I'd order half meat lovers, half whatever you wanted."

"Really?"

"Or we'd order two mediums." 

"So you wouldn't just expect me to pick the meat off one half of a large?" 

Dean recoiled at the idea. "What am I, an asshole?"

"No," Cas said, barely audible. "No, you're not." 

"This ain't exactly my first pizza rodeo," Dean admitted. "I've had lots of practice growing up with Sam. We don't always agree on toppings. Hell, he even orders _salads_."

Their food arrived and they dug in. Dean bobbed his head appreciatively and wiped his mouth. Benny was right. This place didn't suck anymore.

Cas tilted his chin up. "I've been meaning to ask, about Meg's chip the other week."

"What about it?"

"Do you wish you were getting something like that?  Some sort of recognition of your achievements?"

"Not being drunk every day isn't exactly an achievement in my books," Dean said. "Isn't that how normal people live?"

Cas made a face. "Like I know any normal people?"

Dean smiled. "Careful Cas, I'll take that as a personal insult." Dean shrugged.  "It might be nice, sure. Especially with thirty days coming up soon. But it can be pressure, too."

"How so?"

"Say I screw up and get hammered," Dean looked at the table, not liking to imagine the scenario but admitting it was a possibility. "That's just one shitty day. But if I'm counting up to something then that's back to zero. You know?"

"Yeah. I can see that."

"Still. Meg seemed pretty stoked, and I can't really blame her."

They passed dessert discussing their favourite movies, and Dean considered asking Cas if he wanted to catch a flick at Liberty Hall sometime. But something held him back. He tossed bills on the table, rebuffing Cas' protestations and attempts to pay. He passed him the car keys. 

"Mind getting her warmed up for me? I want to chew the fat with Benny a minute." Cas nodded and headed for the parking lot.

Dean strolled over to a long counter behind which Benny was sipping a cup of coffee.

“Hey man, you got a sec?”

“Sure thing, brother. What’s on your mind?”

“Couple things, actually." Dean looked down the empty counter and decided they were okay to talk. "My brother’s on my ass to pick a sponsor.”

“Sorry to hear that. But you pick someone in your own time, okay? Regardless what your brother says.”

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I was wonderin’ if you were available for that. Sponsoring, I mean.”

Benny's head gave a barely perceptible nod. “Could be. If that’s what you want.”

“I think so.”

“Then let’s give it a try. See if it works for you.”

“Great.” Dean bit his lip and nodded as they exchanged numbers.

“Somethin’ else is on your mind?” Benny asked.

Dean wiped a hand across his neck. “They got rules here about dating inside the program?”

“Not rules, no. Why?”

“Just wonderin’.”

Benny looked suddenly serious. “If someone’s comin’ on too strong, you let me know. I’ll have words with them.”

“Nah. Nothin’ like that. It’s just, Cas and I have a history. Ships passin’ in the night sort of thing. But we’re friends now, so it’s all good….except maybe it's more than that."

“Listen brother, I been with Andrea six years, and she is my rock. But generally speakin’, it’s a bad idea to get on your back before you’re on your feet.”

“Yeah, I get you.” Dean sighed. “That’s kind of what Sam said too.” He looked down, not making eye contact. “It a problem dating someone who’s not in the program at all? Someone who’s not sober?”

Benny shrugged. “It’s only a problem if it’s a problem for you. But I‘ll be honest, I couldn’t see it working for me.”

“But assuming I was on my feet, and the other person wasn’t using, what then?” Dean glanced toward the door.

“Then go for it.” Benny smiled. “We stopped drinking, not living.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean had been right. He noticed each time his brother’s mouth opened to ask him about Cas before reining himself in. It was ramping up the tension in their little apartment, and Dean was the first to break.

Sam entered the living room, loudly eating an apple. “Whatcha reading?”

“A book Cas lent me.” Dean twisted his head up from where he lay on the couch. “These two brothers travel the country fighting monsters.” He moved his arm to hide the bag of tiny chocolate bars he was eating his way through. The stores were awash in Halloween candy and Sam was eating an apple. Sometimes Dean wondered if they were even related.

“Sounds like Dungeons and Dragons. Scoot down.” Sam smacked Dean’s legs until he moved them and then took the end of the couch.

“Nah, they fight ghosts and vampires and stuff.” Dean smiled and held up the cover so Sam could see. “This one’s got a racist truck killing people in a small town.”

“Of course it does.”

Dean marked his spot and laid the book on the coffee table. Sam set his half-eaten apple down, picked up the book, and started to read the back cover. Dean’s gaze flicked between his brother and the bag of candy hidden between his arm and his torso. He wondered how quietly he could get a little snickers out, unwrapped, and into his mouth. He made a move but froze when the bag crinkled.

“So,” Dean said, hoping to cover the sound, “I been thinking.”

“I knew that might happen eventually,” Sam teased. He flipped the book open at random and started to read.

Dean nodded and gave a half-hearted smile. “Okay, maybe my mental processes have been dampened, but they’re not so outta whack that I can’t tell you’re worried about me and Cas.”

“What gave it away?” Sam asked, his eyes still on the book. “The part where I said I was worried about you and Cas?"

“Whatever. Like I said, I been thinking, and there might—might—be some merit in what you said.”

Sam glanced up, his brows knit.

Dean took in a bushel of air and pushed it out again. “So you oughta meet him. Tell me what you think.”

Sam passed the book back. “What I think about what?”

“About him. As…as a friend. For me.” Dean waited, feeling anxious and twitchy. This should not be this difficult. It wasn’t like he was bringing a date home to meet the family. He was just introducing Sam to a friend. If his brother actually met Cas, got to know him, then this flack he’d been getting would stop. Unless Sam hated Cas. But that was ridiculous. Nobody could hate Cas. He was awesome.

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” Sam retrieved his apple.

“Really? Great. I’ll set something up. Friday?”

“Friday’s good. Bring him by for dinner before your meeting.”

“Cool.” Dean felt hesitantly optimistic. He’d make lasagna. And Sam would see that his worries about Cas dragging Dean into some booze-fueled suckfest were totally unfounded. He was pretty sure. And if Sam still didn’t like Cas, he’d deal with that then. He was man enough to admit he might be a little lust-blind when it came to gorgeous, bendy, blue-eyed men. Getting a second opinion was the smart thing to do.

“Just don’t be disappointed if I don’t change my mind.” Sam stood and walked toward the hall. “And don’t eat that whole bag of chocolate or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Bitch!” Dean called after Sam’s retreating back. Smiling, he pulled out a little Snickers.

***

Cas stared into his closet and squinted at his clothes. Dean had invited him to dinner before their next meeting. It would be his first time seeing Dean’s apartment, and meeting his brother, Sam. It felt very dateish. Cas was at a loss as to what to wear.

Dean had hinted that Sam had doubts about Dean’s choice in friends, and Cas was feeling the pressure to make a good impression. His old band t-shirts, soft from years of washings, were probably not smart enough. When Dean had extended the invitation he’d specifically said, “And don’t dress like one of the girls from the Brady Bunch, huh?” Cas didn’t remember the show very well, but he had a feeling that Dean’s request excluded a large percentage of his wardrobe.

Since he’d finished university he hadn’t had much call for dress clothes. He owned a suit, but hadn’t worn it in years. He couldn’t teach yoga in a suit. But it seemed like he might need it now. Where had he put it?

He found the old suit at the back of the closet and tried it on. It still fit, although the blazer wasn’t in style anymore. Or maybe it was in style again. He didn’t follow fashion. Everything he knew came from observing Smith, who bought whatever his expensive magazines recommended. He dove into the closet again and emerged with a white dress shirt. It needed to be ironed, but with the suit pants it would look respectable enough. Maybe with his dark blue tie? He scratched at a stain on the shirt collar. Was that coffee or chocolate? He sniffed the shirt and his nose filled with the skunky odor of weed. Shit. He couldn’t wear it like this. He grabbed his keys and headed out the door, shirt and suit bundled under his arm. If he got to the dry cleaner within the next hour it could be ready by Friday.

***

The lasagna was bubbling and the small apartment smelled like melted cheese. Dean liked it. It was homey, and comforting. Why didn’t they make air fresheners that smelled like this, instead of the woods or flowers or some shit? Dean wiped his hands on a towel and looked critically around his apartment. He’d gathered his dirty clothes into the hamper, and opened the windows to air the place out. He’d pulled the vacuum out of the closet, and gone over the floor, sucked the cobwebs from the corners of the ceiling, and even removed the cushions and cleaned the inside of the couch. He wasn’t sure when the last time either of them had done that was, but he thought some of the candy he sucked outta there was from last Halloween.

He heard a key in the lock that meant Sam was home. Dean glanced at his watch. It was coming up on five. Damn. Time was flying by.

“Wow.” Sam walked into the apartment, his eyes wide. “I don’t think the place has looked this good since we moved in.”

“Yeah.” Dean glared at the room. “Our furniture is crap, but at least it’s clean. I Febrezed the shit outta that couch.” He took a breath. The place looked okay, and smelled good, but his skin felt sweaty and gritty. He was in serious need of a shower.

“Relax, Dean. It’s Cas, not the Secretary of State.”

“You’re a riot, Sammy. I’m gonna get ready and go pick him up.” Dean pointed at the Ikea dining table where he’d arranged place settings. “Don’t mess with any of this, or with any of the stuff in the kitchen.”

Sam peered into the oven. “Do I need to do anything with the lasagna?”

“No! Don’t even go near it. It’ll stay warm as long as you don’t open the oven.”

As Dean hurried into the bathroom he heard Sam’s shocked voice cry out. “You made salad?”

***

Sam wasn’t sure what he expected Cas to look like, but when he walked through the door dressed like one of the Men In Black Sam was struck by how intensely blue the guy’s eyes were. His hair stood up in disorganized spikes like a shaggy lawn, and when he spoke his voice sounded like he smoked a bag of kitty litter a day.

“Nice to meet you, Sam. Traditionally a dinner guest brings a bottle of wine,” Cas said, “but given the circumstances I hope this will suffice.” He handed him a bottle of sparkling grape juice, zero alcohol content.

“Thanks.” Sam nodded toward the kitchen cupboards. “I’ll grab an opener and glasses.”

But the most surprising thing for Sam was his brother’s behavior. Dean barely stopped smiling. Sam realized two things very quickly: one, he hadn’t seen his brother this happy since before he went to prison, and two, Dean was totally smitten. He’d even taken the guy’s overcoat and blazer and hung them in the hall closet. He hadn’t done that for anyone before. Heck, Dean didn’t even hang up his own clothes.

As they settled at the table Sam struggled with the feeling that he’d seen Cas before. He had a good memory for faces. Then it hit him. Cas was the shirtless dancer Dean had been ogling at the bar. The one Dean had ditched him to hook up with. Sam tried to keep a poker face. His brother had described Cas as a sobriety buddy, letting him think they’d met through AA, but clearly they had a sexual history. Maybe even a sexual present. Sam smelled lies, and if Dean was lying about this, what else was he lying about?

Dean offered Cas some salad, forked a minimal amount onto his own plate, then passed the bowl to Sam. Dean dashed to the kitchen counter and returned with a basket of garlic bread, lovingly wrapped in a tea towel. He offered some to Cas, looking like an excited puppy. It was heartbreaking,

“So, Cas,” Sam poured grape juice. “How did you and Dean meet?” His intro law prof said that a good lawyer never asks a question unless he already knows the answer. He knew how Dean and Cas had met, and that meant that less than a month ago Cas had been in a bar.

“We’ve been going to AA together for a number of weeks now,” Cas said.

Sam took a deep breath, ready to pounce on the lie.

“But we first met when we hooked up at a gay bar last month,” Cas added.

Dean paused, looking panicked, and sipped nervously at his juice.

“So you…” Sam’s fork gestured back and forth between his brother and Cas.

“Had a one-night stand,” Cas supplied. “I probably wouldn’t have even seen Dean again,” he went on, "except I crashed my car into a utility pole and it was towed to his garage.”

Sam could see Dean trying to communicate with Cas, but their guest’s eyes were on his salad and he missed Dean’s panicked chopping motions across his throat. Finally Dean delivered a sharp kick to Sam’s foot that he was pretty sure was meant for Cas, but by then it was too late.

“I couldn’t afford the repair, but Dean offered to do it for free if I would accompany him to AA.”

“Really?” Sam turned to stare at his brother, who was trying his best to look cheerful. “For free, huh?”

“Who wants lasagna?” Dean asked, making a move to stand.

“We’re not done salad yet,” Sam pointed out. “Park it.” He turned back to Cas. “So, how’s sobriety working out for you?”

“It’s not as boring as I expected.” Cas tilted his head. “Either the world got more interesting or my capacity to enjoy it increased. I’m not sure which.”

Sam chewed his salad and swallowed. The dressing had a nice tang. “Dean’s been sober 26 days now. How long has it been for you?”

Cas swallowed salad. “Twenty-one so far.”

Dean’s head jerked up from where he was pushing his greens around on his plate, hoping they’d disappear on their own.

“Really?” Dean asked. Sam marveled at how relieved his brother looked.

Cas shrugged. “Technically, I haven’t instigated any drug or alcohol use since I crashed my car, but I was on heavy painkillers in the hospital, so I’m not counting those days.”

Sam nodded. “And before that? How long were you using?”

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was heavy with warning and the hand that wasn’t holding a fork curled into a fist.

Cas patted Dean’s arm. “It’s okay.” He turned back to Sam. “Almost daily for five years. Drugs mostly.”

“Wow. Five years. That’s…” Sam poked his salad.

“A very long pattern. Yes it is.”

“You know what I’d love to talk about?” Dean cut in. “Legal history. Sam, tell Cas that thing your prof talked about, in your law history class.”

“That thing?”

“You know. The Code of Hammerhead.”

“Hammurabi.” Sam smirked at his brother’s transparent attempt to derail his interrogation. “I doubt he’d be interested. You weren’t.”

“Actually,” Cas said, “I’d be very interested. Were you discussing it in comparison to the Code of Ur-Nammu or Lipit-Ishtar?”

Dean looked so happy he was about to burst. “I think I’ll go get that lasagna now.”

***

It was coming up on 7:00pm when Dean cornered Sam in the kitchen where he was rinsing off plates.

“So?” His brother looked like he was waiting on the results of a pregnancy test.

Sam shrugged. “I can see why you like him.”

Dean glanced toward the living room, where Cas was sitting. “Then you’re cool with us hanging out?”

Sam ran a scrubber over a plate, removing a stubborn piece of cheese. “If you remember,” he said, “my concern was with you _dating_ someone you met in AA. Are you guys dating?”

“Not yet.” Dean lowered his voice. “But I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Sam rinsed the plate. “Well if you did start…I’d be okay with what.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Sam put the plate in a tray to dry. “Hell, I like him better than that Anael chick you dated.”

Dean frowned. “What was wrong with Anael?”

Sam’s eyebrows made a dash for his hairline. “Uh, three words. Mental health issues.“

Dean rolled his eyes. “So she heard voices sometimes. That doesn’t make her crazy.” He paused. “Okay, maybe it makes her a little crazy. But Cas, you’re cool with him?”

Sam rinsed the last plate. “Yeah, I am. He can come by the apartment anytime.”

Dean’s grin looked like it might break his face. “Awesome.” He lowered his voice. “You uh, think we could bring him by Bobby’s? For Thanksgiving?”

Sam picked up a dishtowel. Thanksgiving was a strictly family-only affair. Sure, Bobby had always said that family didn’t end with blood, but Dean had never brought anyone to Thanksgiving. Ever. “Wow. That is…up to Bobby, I guess.”

Cas entered the small kitchen space and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We should go if you want to make the meeting.”

“Right.” Dean gave Sam a short, sharp nod. “Later then.” He turned to Cas. “Let’s roll.”

***

After their meeting, which had focused on making amends with the people they’d hurt, Cas and Dean stopped at a diner where they each ordered coffee and Dean added a small fries. Cas wasn’t hungry and didn’t need another coffee, and he doubted that Dean did either, but he suspected they were both hesitant for the evening to end.

Cas’ long fingers huddled around his mug. It was getting cold in the evenings. He’d started wearing his overcoat and Dean had teased him that he looked like he was gonna try to sell him a stolen watch, or various letters of the alphabet. Whatever that meant.

“Can I tell you something? Things, really.”

Dean’s soft lips quirked up on one side. “You don’t have to be shy with me, Cas, I’ve had my tongue in your ass.” He popped a fry into his mouth. Cas didn’t think he’d ever seen someone chew so seductively. He had it bad.

He blushed and watched Dean’s tongue dart out to lick the side of his mouth. Why weren’t they sleeping together? Oh right. Dean wasn’t interested. Cas felt his stomach flop. He looked out the window at where two teenagers were running along the sidewalk, propelled by the rising wind. It might start raining soon.

“So, here’s the thing.” He thought back to the meeting tonight and pushed hard to steamroll over the voice in his head that kept telling him to keep his mouth shut. “You generously offered to fix my car, and I’m sure you did it because you thought I’d had an accident. But what happened with my car…” Cas stared into his coffee cup at the flakes of slightly curdled milk, “wasn’t an accident. I did it on purpose.” He thought back to how disappointed he’d been when he’d been pulled from the wreckage, still alive. Now he was only relieved. Amazing how much could change in a month.

Dean looked across at him, the gold in his green eyes catching the light. “Were you high?”

Cas bit a lip. “Yes. But I knew exactly what I was doing. I just….fucked it up.”

“Gee Cas.” Dean leaned back, eyes wide. “If suicide attempt is the first thing out of the gate I’m afraid to hear what you’re workin’ up to.”

“Then I’d better get it over with.” Cas smiled ruefully. Would Dean even want to see him again after this? Maybe not. But he deserved the truth. “That night at the bathhouse, when I gave you a wrong number, that was on purpose too.” He waited, wondering if Dean would just walk out, take a swing, or throw his coffee in his face. Anything seemed possible.

“Yeah, Cas, I know.” Dean laughed and ran a fry through the ketchup on his plate. “Kinda figured that when it turned out to belong to the County Coroner. Guy looks nothin’ like you.”

“I’m sorry.” Cas spread his hands. “I panicked. You asked me on a date and I panicked.“

Dean shrugged. “Guess I have that effect on people.”

Cas grabbed Dean’s hands, wishing his feelings could be transmitted with a touch. He rubbed his thumb across Dean’s fingers, noticing again how calloused they were.

“It wasn’t you. You were,” his lips curled at the memory, “very impressive. You still are.” Cas released Dean’s hands. “I, on the other hand, had—have—serious issues. If I had it to do over I’d do it differently. So I apologize and would like to make amends in whatever way seems appropriate to you.”

“Dude,” Dean leaned in across the plastic tabletop, his voice a hush, “are you doing the steps?”

“No!” Cas looked offended, then annoyed, then embarrassed, all in the span of a few moments. He hunched down in his seat and toyed with the saltshaker, afraid to look at Dean. “Maybe. Yes.”

Dean tried to hide his smile by stuffing his mouth full of fries.

Cas gestured helplessly. “Well, that grouchy old guy said we might as well.”

“Rufus.”

“Yeah.”

Dean pushed his fries across to Cas. “Okay. If we’re gonna get all Truth or Dare, I’ve got one for ya.”

Cas sat up, interested.

Dean fixed him in a stare. It felt like a challenge. “Three months ago I was in prison.”

Cas swallowed. “Like prison-prison? With orange jumpsuits?”

“Yeah. Prison-prison.” Dean nodded wearily. “With gangs and shivs and guards. Except no orange jumpsuits. In Kansas you wear stripes.”

Cas squinted and tilted his head, picturing Dean in stripes. “Like the Hamburglar?”

“Yeah.” Dean laughed and Cas' heart swelled at the way Dean’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “Just like the friggin’ hamburglar.”

Cas smiled and put a hand on Dean’s arm. “I’m glad you told me.”

Dean looked at him, scared and suspicious. “You ain’t gonna ask what I was in for?”

“Is it relevant?”

Dean shrugged. “Fraud. Theft. And I got in some trouble inside, so I got an assault charge on top of that.”

“If you assaulted someone I’m sure you had no other choice.”

Dean looked like his mind was a million miles away, but Cas guessed it was only three months in the past.

“I didn’t.” Dean's lips pressed hard together. “This bastard named Alistair, he and his buddies uh, hurt me. Pretty bad. So I waited until I got him alone and I broke his jaw. But uh, don't mention any of this to Sammy, okay?”

"Of course." Cas wanted to slide into the booth next to him, hold him, and never let go. Either that, or break this Alistair guy’s jaw himself. “Any chance he might come after you once he gets released?”

Dean leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the booth. “Nah. He’s a lifer. You don’t even wanna know the shit he did. He’s never gettin’ out.”

“Good.” Cas ate one of Dean’s fries. “On a totally unrelated note, what do you think it costs to have someone murdered in prison?”

Dean laughed again, throwing his head back. He swore and wiped tears from his eyes. “I like you, Cas.”

“I like you too, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean said it like the idea had just occurred to him. “Were you serious about making amends?”

“Absolutely.”

Dean’s mouth moved like he was tasting something good and forbidden. Like stolen candy. “In whatever way I think is appropriate?”

Cas licked his lips. “Yes.”

Dean slid out of his seat and quickly pushed into Cas’, moving until he was pressed against him. Cas wondered if his pounding heart was audible.

Dean’s hand cupped his jaw and he thumbed the bristles already growing in. Cas’ mouth went dry. Dean was going to kiss him.

“This okay?” Dean whispered, his mouth hovering an inch away from Cas’ own.

Cas could only nod and then he was lost in the soft insistent press of Dean’s lips and the taste of his mouth, salty from the fries and slightly bitter from the coffee. The kiss went on, and on and on. Cas didn’t think he’d ever devoted this much time just to kissing, or maybe time had just ground to a halt.

Dean pulled back at the sound of a cleared throat nearby and grinned up at their waitress as she slipped the bill face down onto the table and turned, red-faced, to hurry away.

Dean took the bill and turned his attention back to Cas, staring at him with shiny eyes. “Whatcha doin’ for Thanksgiving this year?”

***

Smith was at his desk eating a high protein chicken salad when he heard a timid knock at his office door and looked up to see the gangly figure of Wesson from the IT department. It was about damn time.

Smith dabbed his mouth with a napkin as the tall kid shuffled anxiously into the room.

“You got something?” Smith demanded. “Lay it on me.”

Wesson handed over a thin manila file folder and stood waiting. Smith leaned back in his chair and flipped through the pages. This was good. Wesson had secured a cell number, and an address—some hole-in-the-wall near the university—and a credit report. But what really got him excited was that Wesson had managed to dig up an arrest record. Sweet.

“Not bad.” Hiding his glee, Smith nodded and closed the folder. He looked up at Wesson expectantly. “Something else?” What was the guy waiting for? A tip?

“No.” Wesson shook his head. “That’s everything.”

“Good. Then get back to work.” Smith dug into his salad, not sparing the IT drone another glance.

Once Wesson was gone Smith risked a grin. He’d wanted to put an end to his Dean Winchester problem for a while, and he finally had the ammunition to do it. Well, almost. He needed one more thing.

Getting the dope wasn’t easy. He’d expected to find everything he needed in the box-O-drugs Castiel usually kept in the coffee table. But when he opened it Smith found only post-it notes with stupid saying like, “When we numb the darkness we numb the light.” So he’d put out some feelers at his gym, talking with a guy so massive he must be juicing, then with the guy’s trainer, then with the trainer's dealer, then with a guy the dealer knew. Eventually he’d come home with a small vial of GHB in his pocket. They assured him it would knock someone out for three or more hours and would be undetectable, even with a blood test, within a day. It was perfect.

Smith poured two glasses, put a wedge of lime in one and four drops from the vial into the other. He paused, musing on Castiel’s tolerance level, then added four more. Gripping the drinks, he strolled into the living room. Castiel was lying on the couch watching some awful movie in which a bunch of comedians played drug addicts instead of being funny. Smith set the drink next to him.

“Drink up. You look parched.”

Castiel barely moved. “No thanks.” Smith felt his shoulders tense. There was a time that he couldn’t walk into a room without Castiel’s eyes following him like he was the North Star. But Since Dean Winchester came into the picture he’d become invisible. He swallowed the urge to cuff Castiel in the side of the head to get his attention. Be cool, he reminded himself. Soon everything would be back to normal.

“Relax, Carrie Nation.” He put just the right amount of bitter mockery into his voice. “It’s ginger ale.”

“Really?” He sat up and looked.

“Really. Drink up.” Smith held his own glass in a toast and took a gulp.

“Thanks.” Castiel swallowed a gulp. Monkey see, monkey do. It was almost too easy.

They watched the shitty movie in silence until Castiel’s head drooped onto his chest. Smith waited five more minutes then leaned over and rolled one of Castiel’s eyelids back. Yeah, he was out. He slid Castiel’s phone out of his pocket and tread quietly into the bedroom. It was time to text Dean Winchester.


	7. Chapter 7

Smith scrolled back through the messages in Castiel’s cheap-ass phone. It was easy to find the ones from Winchester, and damn, there were a lot of them. Most planned meet-ups and discussed where to eat, some argued about music, cars, and clothes, and several referred to “a meeting,” which must be drug code. As he scrolled he learned three disturbing things about Castiel: 1) He was meeting with Winchester a few times a week; He’d had dinner at his apartment and met his brother; 2) He’d somehow convinced Winchester to fix his car for free.

Smith’s jaw tightened. They were dating, that had to be it. Although if that was the case, there was a surprising lack of sex talk and dick pics. A hollow formed in Smith’s stomach. Maybe Castiel was falling for the guy.

He began to pace his bedroom. If he didn’t quash this little romance now, it was going to end with Castiel moving into Winchester’s squalid love nest, and then where would he be? Paying double for his apartment, electricity, cable, internet, water and trash collection, that’s where. He’d be cooking his own food, cleaning like a maid, and picking up his own laundry. Hell, was doing half that now, since Castiel had gotten so wrapped up in Winchester.

Smith swore, feeling anger swell inside his chest. Trust Castiel to pull this shit just when Smith was moving up in the company. If he played his cards right he could be VP of Sales and Marketing by this time next year. But that was never gonna happen if his expenses doubled and he started showing up to work sporting last year’s watch and a discount haircut. Jesus, was Castiel trying to ruin his life?

This called for preemptive retaliation.

He grabbed a notebook and jotted down notes on the tone and cadence of Castiel’s texts. His own message needed to sound right. Smith had lots of practice picking up on the nuances of how people spoke and thought, and he’d gotten good at parroting it back. That was sales. Finally he had the perfectly crafted message.

_Hello Dean. Can I interest you in a hamburger?_

The hook was baited. He didn’t have to wait long.

***

Dean turned a page in the novel Cas had loaned him and glared as he read the next paragraph. These brothers weren’t exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer, and their sluggish logic was grating on him.

“Ah, come on! You need to interrogate the mother! She knows waaay more about this racist truck than she’s lettin’ on.”

“Arguing with a book now?” Dean looked up to see Sam looming over him, eyebrows raised. “I thought you only did that with the television.”

Dean marked his spot and tossed the book onto the coffee table. “Yeah, well, it pisses me off when people don’t see what’s starin’ them right in the face.”

Sam passed him a can of Coke, sat, and opened one of his own. “So narrative tension bothers you.” Dean could see the amusement in his brother’s face. It was actually nice to see something other than disappointment and concern, and he took a moment to bask in it.

“Whatever, Mark Twain. I call it people being thick as bricks.” Dean guzzled the drink, paused, and emitted a showy burp.

“Nice, Dean. Real nice.”

Dean’s stomach felt nervous. He’d been trying to find a smooth way to broach the subject of his next steps with Sam for a week now and failed. So he was gonna have to shoehorn it in, and now was as good a time as any.

“So here’s the thing,” he said, noting the worry that suddenly clouded his brother’s face. “As part of this AA thing I’m supposed to acknowledge the harm I caused and try to make amends.”

“Okay.” Sam sounded hesitant.

Dean stood, shifting from one foot to the other. He put his soda can on the coffee table, pulled a sweat-damp piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it.

“Here goes.” He sucked in a bushel of air. “Sam, I’m sorry you had to live with my drunk ass since I got out of prison. That can’t have made it easy for you to concentrate on school. I’m sorry I puked on the carpet in the hall. Both times, actually. I’m sorry I woke you up comin’ home wasted. I’m sorry I fell into your shelf and broke your big wooden hand.” He waved toward a shelf near the door.

“It’s Brazilian figa,” Sam said. “And I glued the thumb back on. It’s fine. Go on.”

Dean nodded. “I’m sorry I poured all your vegetable juice down the sink.”

Now Sam looked pissed. “I thought you drank it.”

“Actually, I ran outta Coke and tried to use it as mix. But it was really nasty.” Dean’s mouth writhed from the memory. At the time he’d just been pissed to have wasted a drink's worth of booze.

“So you just threw it out? That juice cost twelve dollars a bottle, Dean.”

“And I’m _sorry_ , which is why it’s on here.” Dean sighed, and continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t put you on the visitor list when I went inside. I didn’t want you seein’ me in there. That’s my pride, I guess.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand over the back of his neck. Sam had been sixteen when he went in, he didn’t want a kid that age seeing his brother in stripes. And he certainly hadn’t been about to tell him any of the real shit that went down in there, so every visit would’ve had to be a pack of lies. It seemed better to keep him in the dark. Still, he could see now how Sam might’ve felt rejected.

“Goin’ back a little further, I’m sorry I slept with your date for that sophomore dance, Cara somebody?” Dean’s memory was fuzzy on the name. All he’d been certain of at the time was that she’d already had her sixteenth birthday.

“Carla?” Sam sounded surprised. “She said she came down with the mumps. I dropped chicken soup off at her house.” He frowned.

“It might’ve been Carla.” Dean shrugged and continued. “And I’m sorry I missed your high school graduation I was really proud of you, and I wish I coulda been there.”

“That it?” Sam’s lips were pressed together in a firm line, working hard not to reply before Dean was finished.

Dean wiped a sweaty hand against his pant leg. “Hey man, if there’s something you think oughta be on this list that ain’t, you let me know.”

Sam nodded, thoughtful. “You couldn’t help missing graduation. That shouldn’t even be on your list. Especially since you were only in prison because of me.”

“Hey! I was in prison cause I did a shitty job of keepin’ an eye on you when I was supposed to. Partly cause I was out, gettin’ my drunk on. Anyway. I coulda done a better job of that, and I’d like to make it up to you.”

“Thanks, Dean. I’m glad you’re doing this step thing. I’m a little pissed about Carla, though.” Sam frowned. “You really slept with her?”

Dean slapped a consoling hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Trust me, you didn’t miss a thing. She was very…bitey. If you want, I’ll make it up to you. Set you up. AA has some very pretty women.”

“Thanks, but I can find my own dates.”

Dean raised his hands. “Hey. I’m just puttin’ it out there.” Sam always got so defensive when Dean tried to set him up. He’d passed on some good dates. Dean figured it must be a little brother thing.

Dean heard his phone’s guitar-heavy ring and grabbed it from the coffee table. He flipped to his messages and smiled.

“Cas wants to grab food.” He looked up at Sam. “We good here?”

Sam grabbed him in a crushing squeeze. “Now we’re good.”

“Hey Jolly Green, take it easy.” Dean blinked back tears and laid reassuring slaps on his brother’s back. Sam slapped back, rather hard. His hands were like baseball mitts.

“Go have fun with your not-a-boyfriend,” Sam said.

Dean’s face beamed. “I will.” He began texting a reply.

***

Smith winced as the Impala pulled up in front of his apartment complex. God, what a loud piece of crap Winchester drove. He must be compensating for something. Smith zipped up his Bramley jacket against the chill and pocketed Castiel’s cell. He glanced around to see if any of his neighbors were watching, then approached the car, draping an arm along the roof and leaning into the passenger window. He felt vaguely like a hooker, but there was no way he was getting in a car with a felon who had a history of violence. He recognized Winchester from his mug shot. He’d seen enough of these bad-boy types who skated through life on their looks and charm. Well, ice time was over.

“Dean Winchester.” He said the man’s name like he was spitting out a bug. Smith could admit that Winchester was good looking. He could see why Castiel was interested. But the man had no class. His clothes were straight off the rack of some camping goods or farm supply store. Guy probably didn’t even own a pair of cufflinks.

Winchester frowned and turned the stereo down. “Where’s Cas?”

“Oh. ‘Cas’ is it? How cosy. Cas isn’t coming.” Smith kept his facial expressions hard. These rough trade types were mostly bluster. All he had to do was make a strong enough front and the guy would drop Castiel for an easier mark.

“Who the hell are you?” Winchester demanded.

“I’m Smith.” He maintained eye contact. His name alone might be enough to send this rat back to his hole. But Winchester waited, clearly expecting more information.

“Seriously? He hasn’t mentioned me?” Smith was surprised and more than a little pissed. Castiel had just erased him from his life like he didn’t exist? That was gratitude for you.

“Should he?” Winchester’s brow wrinkled. “How do you know Cas?”

“Well,” Smith narrowed his eyes, “let’s start with how we’ve been living together for the last seven years.”

“Seven years…” Winchester’s face fell. “Like together-together?” Smith could hear the disappointment in the man’s voice. Winchester probably thought he’d bagged a wealthy sugar daddy, living at an apartment like this. Smith doubted Castiel had bothered to set him straight. Honesty wasn’t exactly his strong point.

“Would I be out here bitchin’ at you if he was just my roommate?” Smith waited to see if Winchester was biting. This was a dick-swinging contest and playing the angry spouse was his smartest move.

“Jeez! Seven years.” Winchester was clearly rattled. “Cas didn’t say anything about that.”

“I didn’t think so. He told _me_ you were just friends. That true?”

“I..uh,” Winchester faltered. “No. That’s not exactly true. I mean, we are, we _were_ , but….”

Good. He had him practically stuttering. Time for the bargaining phase.

“Well friend or not, I’d rather you erase Castiel’s number from your phone. He doesn’t need people like you in his life.”

Winchester actually had the balls to be offended. “People like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Smith brought out the big guns. “I looked into you Winchester. You’re an ex-con. You work in a _garage_. Castiel has a masters degree in history. Sure, he does dick-all with it, but you,” Smith smirked, “you didn’t even graduate high school.”

“You got a point?” Winchester was sulking now. Good. Low self esteem was a lever he could use.

“My point is you don’t know the first thing about Castiel.” Smith made a point of pronouncing every syllable of his name. “You’re not in his class. The only reason he’s bothering with you is so you’ll fix his car for free and hook him up with drugs. I suppose he’s getting those for free too?”

Smith sensed he’d made a misstep. Winchester looked offended when he should be looking defeated.

“I’m not giving Cas drugs. We’re in recovery together.”

Smith tried to hide his surprise. Well. That explained a lot, actually. Still, Winchester had just passed him the final nail for his coffin. It was perfect.

“Recovery?” Smith laughed. “Man, you are one sad and deluded sucker. You know where your beloved ‘Cas’ is right now? Passed out on _our_ couch. High as a kite. Come up and see it if you don’t believe me.”

“No. I uh, I don’t need to see that.” Smith watched the man’s face fall. He didn’t think he’d seen someone look more disillusioned in his life. It was time to close the deal.

“Listen, sweet stuff, there’s a man for you out there somewhere. But it ain’t Castiel. Go back to Sam, and forget about us and this address. Next time I see you sniffing around here I’m callin’ the cops, and then your parole is tanked. We clear?”

Winchester nodded, his lips tight. “Yeah. We’re clear.”

Smith sighed with relief as the Impala pulled away. Now his life could get back to normal. Maybe he’d take Castiel somewhere and get him shit-faced. He’d forget all about this recovery crap and all about Winchester.

And if that didn’t work he could always let Castiel blow him. Sometimes you had to throw the dog a bone.

***

Dean got three blocks before he pulled the Impala over, his vision too blurry to drive. He leaned his head against the steering wheel and let the tears come. Cas had told him he wanted to date, and had talked about overcoming his commitment issues. And now it turned out he’d been living with a guy for seven years. Seven years. Dean flung his head back and groaned his pain out at the car roof.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he sat, but as Highway To Hell started to pour from the speakers of his stereo he turned the music up, shifted into drive, and headed for Bobby’s garage. He needed to clean house and he could start by getting Cas’ Lincoln done.

It was coming up on 2:00am when Dean took a break and poured himself a coffee. The joy he usually got from seeing a job come together was soured by the memory of Smith’s smirk. Dean wanted to wipe the smug look off his face, preferably with his fists. But his beef wasn’t with Smith. It was Cas who had lied to him. All Smith did was be an asshole and date someone Dean had fallen for.

Dean gulped the coffee, wincing at the burn. He’d give Cas his car back and never have to see him again. Then he’d pick up the smashed pieces of his life and move on. Story of his life.

“There a reason you’re burning my electricity all night long?” Bobby’s gruff voice called out across the darkened garage.

“Wanted to finish this car and get it the hell outta here,” Dean said. “Make room for payin’ customers.”

Bobby poured himself a coffee and stood beside Dean. “This your friend’s Lincoln, ain’t it?”

“He used to be a friend.”

“You two have a fallin’ out?”

“You could say that.” Dean looked off into the unlit bay next to them. “Thought we had something, but, turns out he’d been living with a guy for seven years. Guess I was just something to pass the time.”

“So you thought you’d work all night, finish the car, and say _sayonara_ to his cheatin’ ass?”

Dean sighed. “That’s about the size of it. Figured at least one of us should keep his word.”

Bobby finished off his coffee, stepped across to the next bay, and rolled his own set of tools over. “You gonna stand there all night or are we gonna finish this?”

Dean set his empty cup on the floor. “Let’s finish this.”

***

It was the asscrack of dawn and Dean hadn’t slept. He and Bobby had finished repairs on the Lincoln around 6:00am, after which Bobby had cut Dean loose, telling him not to come back until he’d had a descent sleep. Dean wasn’t sure when that might be. His body was exhausted, his muscles aching and weak, but his brain felt like a hamster hopped up on Red Bull, spinning in a wheel. He couldn’t stop thinking, and he wanted nothing more than to drink himself into unconsciousness. But Sam hadn’t kept alcohol in the apartment since Dean started in AA, and any place he could buy booze didn’t open until 9:00am. He parked in front of the diner where Benny worked and sat there in the dark hours before morning, staring at the windshield, seeing only Cas’ beautiful lying face in his mind’s eye.

A knock on his window startled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Benny peering through the fogged glass.

Benny scratched his scruffy beard. “You look like a man who could use a good piece of pie.”

Dean followed Benny inside and slumped on a stool at the counter as Benny turned on the lights, put coffee on, and fired up the grill and the oven. Dean watched as he pulled an apple pie from a refrigerated cabinet and transferred it into the oven.

“You and Cas break up?” Benny asked, setting a coffee in front of him.

Dean almost laughed. “Is it that obvious?” He wrapped his hands around the warm mug. He needed the heat more than the caffeine.

Benny smiled, knowingly. “Only a few things make a man look as beat down as you do, and love’s one of ‘em.”

“We were never going out, technically. I mean, I thought we were gonna.” Dean sipped the coffee. “Oh, who the Hell am I kidding? Yeah. We broke up. I just haven’t told him yet.”

Benny chuckled. “You might wanna get on that.”

“Think I’ll leave it to the guy he’s been livin’ with for seven years.” Dean stared into his mug.

“Ouch.” Benny put a consoling paw on Dean’s shoulder. “That’s rough, brother.” Dean drank coffee in silence while Benny did his morning prep. When the pie was heated through Benny brought it over, steaming, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting against it.

Dean shovelled a forkful into his mouth and swallowed it down. “Benny, you’re the best sponsor ever.”

“That what this visit’s about?” Benny raised a brow. “You having temptations?”

“Yeah. Like I want to drink myself into a coma kind of temptations.” Dean ate another mouthful of pie. “You’re the expert. What do I do?”

“I’m not an expert on anything, ‘cept my own experience. But that tells me you go to a meeting.” Benny looked at the clock on the wall. “There’s one on the west side starts at eight.”

“You’re right.” Dean took a gulp of coffee. “I should go.”

“Text me when you get there,” Benny said. “If I don’t hear you got there, I’ll be disappointed.”

“I’m goin’ to the meeting,” Dean assured him. He looked down at the half-eaten pie. He ran a thumb through the gooey juice, brought it to his mouth, and licked it clean. “Can I get this to go?”

***

Cas awoke, sitting up on the couch. His head felt cloudy and his limbs were heavy. He glanced down and groaned in disgust when he saw that he’d puked on himself. Quite a lot. He hadn’t had a morning like this in…in almost a month. He peeled his shirt off carefully and sat staring at the coffee table, where two coasters sat. Had he been drinking with someone? He couldn’t remember.

Warning bell started ringing in his head. Had Smith done something to his drink?

He staggered to the kitchen and opened the drawer where the recycling bins were mounted. Smith had cleared away the evidence, but he’d been too lazy to take out the recycling. Two cans of gingerale hadn’t been rinsed. He put them in a ziplock bag and started looking for his phone, which for some reason was on his bed. He never left it there. He frowned. Was he being paranoid? Maybe. But he needed to know for sure.

He called a number he hadn’t used in over a month.

“Doctor Bad-Ass, at your service.”

“Ash. Thank God. Are you free?”

“That’s how I live, man.”

“Can I come over? Or are you expecting uh, visitors?”

“Nah, man. That was a one-time thing with those biker dudes. Swing by anytime.” He cleared his throat and Cas could hear him spit. “Call first, obviously. I might be with a lady.” Cas remembered Ash’s dedication to reviving the mullet and jean vest, and wondered if he'd ever had a woman over. Of course Ash was a genius, so if anyone could manage, it’d be him.

Ash’s lair, as he called it, was a studio apartment above a bicycle shop that had gone into receivership. Cas weaved through a graveyard of dusty bikes to the door of Ash’s workspace and knocked. The peephole darkened briefly and then he heard the sound of several deadbolts being turned. The door opened and Ash smiled at him, looking like he hadn't showered in a few days.

"Cas. Been a while. Come on in." They ascended the stairs where the strong smell of solvent and the roar of ventilation fans assaulted his senses. “Sorry ‘bout the smell,” Ash said, shouting slightly over the noise of the fans. “I got a very nice twist on ecstasy just popped outta the oven. You need a re-up? I’m fully stocked now.”

“I don’t want any ecstasy. I need a drug test.”

“Allow me,” Ash put one hand to his forehead and the other hovered in front of Cas. “I’m getting a strong positive reading. Very strong. You may actually _be_ a drug by now.”

“I’m serious, Ash.” Cas’ voice was hard. “I think Smith doped me.”

Ash snorted. “Sounds like somethin’ he’d do. Whatdda figure he used?”

“Rohypnol, maybe? GHB?”

Ash looked concerned. “You think he tried any, uh, funny business? Downstairs?” He waved a hand in case Cas didn’t follow his obvious meaning.

“No.” Cas shook his head. Whatever Smith’s motives, they certainly hadn’t been sexual. “Can you do the test or not?”

“Absolutely.” Ash rubbed his hands together. “Sounds like a job for the mass spectrometer!”

“You have a mass spectrometer? Aren’t those ungodly expensive?”

“Nah. Most of the cost is in the fancy brand name. Mine’s an Ash original.” He gestured at something that looked vaguely like the mutant offspring of a microscope and a photocopier.

Cas passed him two ziplock baggies, looking embarassed. “I brought the cans and some uh, vomit.”

“Merci bo-coop!” Ash took the bags like he was getting a present. “I’ll also have to trouble you for your urine and blood.”

“No problem.” Cas rolled up a sleeve. Five minutes later he sat on an old car seat, reading a copy of Highlights For Children from 1992 while he waited for Ash to complete the analysis. Cas had just stated perusing Goofus and Gallant when Dr. Bad-Ass approached, pulling off rubber kitchen gloves.

Ash coughed, as if about to begin a speech. “I went with your urine levels,” he announced, “since they’re the most reliable given the timeframe. I’m seeing 4.8 miligrams of gamma-hydroxybutyric acid per litre, and I tested for creatinine concentration to adjust for urine flow. I’m lookin’ at a 6.6 there.”

Cas put down the magazine. “Just tell it to me in English.”

“You been dosed.” Ash nodded. “Most definitely. Heavy, too, from the looks of it.”

Cas swore. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“Happy to help.” He raised an eyebrow. “You want somethin’ for the road? Cheer you up?”

“No thanks.” Cas rolled his head back, feeling defeated. “I’ve actually been going to AA, for almost a month now.” He was more than a little perturbed about what this test result might mean for his sobriety. Did he start counting over again? He didn’t know.

“Oh. Good on you, man.” Ash sniffed. “It’s not for me, though. My world’s too weird without drugs.”

As Cas drove back to his apartment, fury made him feel slightly high. He’d never been so angry at Smith before. Not even when Anna died.

As soon as he got to the apartment Cas went to Smith’s room, not bothering to knock. Smith was reclining on his bed in his Hugo Boss casual, staring at his laptop.

“Would you care to explain why you roofied my gingerale?”

“How'd you find out?” Smith looked more annoyed than contrite.

“It wasn’t difficult. You have the criminal skills of a child.”

“You’re making a way bigger deal out of this than it actually is.”

Cas felt his hands curl into fists. “You ruined everything I’ve been trying to accomplish over the past month.”

Smith raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?”

“No. I’m not. I hadn’t used drugs in twenty-two days. Twenty-two days! You broke my sobriety. And my tolerance was way down. You could've killed me. If I'd drank more, or if I hadn't puked most of it up...." Cas thought about Dean, finding out he'd died of a drug overdose and never knowing why. It kicked his anger up another few notches. 

Smith set the laptop aside and crossed his arms. “Now to be fair, you didn’t say a word about your whole recovery kick, so how was I supposed to know?”

“I could have _died_. I could have choked on my own vomit and died on your fucking couch!”

“Says the guy who tried to off himself last month.”

Cas’ hands formed claws beside his head, as if he could squeeze his brain and understand Smith’s reasoning. “At least tell me _why_.”

“No biggie. I just needed you out of the way so I could have a chat with your buddy Dean.” Smith smiled. He was actually happy.

Cas felt his stomach drop. “What did you do?”

“I told him how it was. We won’t be seeing him around here anymore unless he wants a one-way ticket back to anal rape camp.” Smith made a face. “Don’t look at me like that. You should be thanking me. That guy was no good for you.”

“Like you are?” Cas felt like he was seeing Smith for the first time. Like he was some stranger who’d wondered into the room and just started lighting everything on fire.

“Exactly.”

“Wow. You are a piece of work, Smith.” Cas laughed, feeling tears perilously close to spilling over. “You’ve taken away everyone I care about. First Anna and now Dean.”

Smith jabbed a finger at him. “Hey! Don’t you dare put Anna and him in the same category! Your sister was a fucking angel. He’s an alcoholic ex-con who couldn’t even cut it in high school.”

“Shut up! You don’t know the first thing about Dean.”

Smith blew air through his lips, sounding like a tire deflating. “I probably know more than you do. Did you know he was in prison?”

“Yeah, I did.” Cas could see Smith’s surprise. He didn’t understand Cas’ relationship with Dean at all. He wasn’t just some guy he’d picked up at a bar. Dean was someone with whom Cas could share his deepest hopes and fears. He was someone real.

“Well did you know he beat a guy in there so bad the poor bastard had to have his jaw reconstructed?” Smith shook his head as if stunned by Cas' lack of appreciation. “Who knows what that jerk had in store for you. You should be thanking me.”

“Go to hell, Smith.” Cas left the room before he did something he’d regret.

“Come on back when you’ve calmed down,” Smith’s voice called after him. “I’ve picked us out a little vacation spot for next weekend. It’s got an indoor pool with a swim-up bar.”

Cas stormed around his room grabbing his essentials and shoving them into his yoga bag harder than necessary. He would stay with Gabriel until he found a place of his own. He and Smith were done.

He looked up to see Smith leaning on the doorjamb. “Oh come on,” he chided. “Is this little show really necessary? We both know you’re not really leaving.”

Cas grabbed his work clothes and crammed them into the bag. “You are delusional.”

Smith rolled his eyes and moved in close. He took Cas loosely by the wrists. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice like honey. “You know I hate to see a frown on those pretty lips.”

Cas felt a cold anger seep into his bones. Smith always did this. Every time he’d started to see him for the blood-sucking creature he really was, he flirted with him. Even when he knew it was a lie, Cas had always caved to the possibility. But looking at Smith now, he couldn’t have cared less. He was over him. He was free.

“Especially when I can think of a much better use for them.” Smith pulled Cas’ hand toward him and ground it against the erection behind his expensive jeans. 

Cas pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. Just a month earlier he’d have been thrilled. He’d have gotten down on his knees and taken whatever Smith wanted to give him. Smith was counting on that. He’d always counted on that. Cas smiled, but Smith missed the pity behind it.

“That’s a good boy.” Smith smirked, closed his eyes, and leaned back. “Unzip me and go to town.”

Cas was pretty sure he’d meant to slap Smith, but when his hand connected it was a heavy fist. He felt it make bruising contact with bone, and then watched, surprised, as blood poured from Smith’s nose and mouth.

Smith cried out, clutched his gushing face, and swore. “Wat da fa?” 

Cas grabbed Smith by the hair and jerked his head into the light, assessing his injuries dispassionately. “Your nose is broken and you’ll need some dental.”

Smith hurried to a mirror to assess the damage. “You fugin’ jerg, He pressed fingers tentatively to his teeth, assessing which had lost their veneers. “You’re paying for alla dis.”

Cas felt a laugh coming on and did nothing to hide it.

“Riiight. Take it out of what you owe me for seven years of housework and send a check to my new address.” He moved to leave the room, then paused. “Actually, I don’t want you knowing where I live from now on. Send it through Gabriel. And if you come near me or Dean again I'm having you charged. Doping someone is a felony.” He grabbed his bag and was out the door before Smith could respond.


	8. Chapter 8

“You’ve got me schlepping like a bellhop,” Balthazar complained.”

“I’ve seen you carry _two_ boxes,” Gabriel snapped.

“I got a manicure this morning.”

“Did they buff your nails or break your arms?”

“Can you both shut up?” Cas cut in, hefting a box into Gabriel’s car and shutting the hatchback. “I’d like to be gone before Smith gets home from work.”

“Did that Ken Doll rat you out?” Gabriel asked, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. “Should we be keeping our eyes peeled for the fuzz?

“No.” Cas led the way back upstairs. “He’s not going to risk jail time and his career to charge me with a misdemeanor.”

“Did you really punch him in the face?” Balthazar asked.

“Yes I did.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Gabriel urged, looking delighted. “Preferably one where he has tears weeping from his blackened eyes.”

Cas tried not to smile. “He had emergency dental, but he’s still got a broken nose and significant bruising. He’s telling people it’s a boxercise injury.”

Cas surveyed the room. One more trip ought to do it, and then he’d never have to see Smith again. Better late than never, he supposed.

***

Cas spotted Dean at the back of the diner, hunched over a coffee. Approaching, his chest felt tight and his palms were sweaty despite the cold. He hoped Dean wouldn’t be disappointed over the breech in his sobriety. He should have known better than to trust Smith. His right hand throbbed and ached. He’d never punched someone before, and it was nothing like it looked on television. Faces were harder than he’d ever imagined. Gabriel had iced his hand, then made virgin daiquiris with umbrellas and enormous chunks of fruit.

Dean spoke as soon as Cas sat, his voice tight. “Your car’s ready. Bobby and I worked late, so it’s good to go. You can pick it up tomorrow.”

“That was fast.” Cas smiled. “How many hours do I owe you?” It would be convenient getting his car back now. Gabriel’s place was much further from work.

“Forget about it.” Dean didn’t return his smile or meet his eyes. “I’ll go to meetings on my own from now on, so you’re off the hook.”

“I’m fine with finishing the hours we agreed.” The reminder that he’d intended to get a financial benefit out of going to meetings with Dean made him feel queasy.

“I said we’re good.” Dean’s voice was hard, final.

Cas felt the urge to punch his former roommate again. “Is this about something Smith said to you? Because I’d like to explain about that.”

“No need, Cas. I just wanna move on. Focus on the future. I got Benny as a sponsor now. I don’t need you holding my hand.”

“Oh.” Cas frowned. It made him feel very middle school, but he would have liked to hold Dean’s hand. He dug his nails into his palms and felt the fresh skin on his right knuckles split.

“I appreciate the support, but I think Sam had it right when he said I shouldn’t be tryin’ to date anyone in AA.”

“So no Thanksgiving then?” Cas was disappointed, but not surprised. He wasn’t the kind of guy people usually introduced to their families.

Dean looked uncomfortable. “I think it best we part ways.” He stood, counted out some bills and anchored them to the table with his near-empty mug. “I’m trying to make better choices. You know how it is.”

Cas’ head jerked up. “Does that mean we stop being friends?”

“We were never friends,” Dean said, and Cas felt like he was falling through the floor. “You were a guy I picked up in a bar who ditched me as soon as he got his rocks off, and then you were a crutch I used until I got my shit together. We’re not pals. We had an arrangement and now it’s over. Go back to your life. Go back to Smith.”

“Is that what you want?” Cas’ voice sounded small, even to himself. He should have known he couldn’t have someone like Dean. Smith poisoned everything, but Cas was the one who let him. This was his own fault.

“It’s what needs to happen.”

“Well thanks for everything. I learned a lot.” _Do not tell him he changed your life._ Cas bit his tongue. _Do not cry. Do not cry._ “I’ll see you tomorrow, when I pick up the car?”

“Maybe. If I’m around.” Cas watched him go. As he waited for the bus to Gabriel’s his brain told him that there’d never been anything between him and Dean except the deal, while his feelings told him different. But if seven years with Smith had taught him anything it was that feelings didn’t mean shit.

***

Dean was dwelling on the negative, like Benny had warned him not to do. And from the way he’d been banging and crashing around the garage this morning, everyone else knew it too.

“You got somethin’ personal against that Chevy?” Bobby’s voice drifted down to him.

“Just the condition of the transmission,” Dean shouted, sliding out from under the car and sitting up on his creeper. Working on engines always took Dean to a happy place in his head. Sliding under a car should have kicked his claustrophobia into high gear, but instead he just felt safe. Working on cars let his mind relax, and right now he needed to turn his brain off. And blazing through the repair roster was preferable to downing a forty. He accepted the mug of coffee Bobby handed him with a nod of thanks.

“You and your friend patched things up yet?”

Dean laughed unconvincingly. “I think that’s a write-off.”

“Sam said you were talkin’ of havin’ him over to Thanksgivin’. Sounded serious. You willin’ to share pie n’all.”

“It was serious. I told him stuff I haven’t even told Sam. Guess that was a bonehead move.” Dean licked his lip. Nobody ever accused him of being the smart Winchester.

“It ain’t salvageable?”

Dean hesitated. “I can’t even look at him without…. I just can’t.”

“Well you don’t have to. I’ll take the handover today.”

“Any idea when he’s coming by?”

“He’s here now, waiting in reception.” Bobby glanced at the clock on the wall. “Been there about twenty minutes.” In response to Dean’s astounded expression Bobby smirked. “What? Contemplation does a soul good.”

Dean watched Bobby amble toward reception. As soon as he left Dean set the coffee down and darted into Bobby’s office through the door that led into the work bays. He edged up to the two-way mirror Bobby had installed to enable him to keep an eye on the register. He could see Cas sitting on a plastic chair, but from his side Cas saw only a mirror.

Bobby moved behind the counter, adjusted his cap, and glared from under the brim. “Lincoln, right?”

Cas stood. “That’s right.”

While Bobby filled forms with his chicken scratch, Dean watched Cas. It was probably the last chance he’d ever get. He looked tired. He squinted through the glass at a white bandage almost obscured by the sleeve of his coat. What the hell had he done to his hand?

“This woulda cost you nearly seven grand, but that’s waived on account of Dean.” Bobby pushed a clipboard at Cas, poking him in the sternum. “Need your John Hancock on the bottom of pages two and three.”

Cas signed and passed the clipboard back. “Where is Dean? Can I see him?”

“I’ll bring your car around front,” Bobby said, ignoring his question. “How ‘bout you take it and leave before I get ornery.“

Dean watched Cas walk out, and the chime above the door sounded depressingly final.

***

Cas stepped out of Gabriel’s shower, threw on a fluffy pink robe, and padded to the guest room. He could hear Balthazar and Gabriel in the kitchen, arguing about whether a proper hurricane used lemon juice or lime, and whether they should order in Chinese or Thai.

He considered joining his friends, but pushed the idea aside. He didn’t want food. What he wanted was to forget he’d ever met Dean Winchester, ever kissed his stupid beautiful face, or ever had his heart quashed into mush. He wanted to forget all of it.

“Give me back the Grenadine,” Gabriel snapped.

“No. You’ll make it too sweet.”

“It’s supposed to be sweet.”

Cas heard the sound of the blender then Gabriel and Balthazar engaged in a slap fight over control of it. They were good friends, but sometimes they drove him crazy. If he stayed in this evening he was going to end up adding rum to his hurricanes. And if he got drunk enough he’d wake up to find he’d bought a bag of coke.

He ransacked his partially unpacked boxes until he found enough clothes to dress, pulled on a jacket and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Gabriel asked, releasing Balthazar from a headlock.

“Out. I need a walk.”

“More than you need hurricanes?” Balthazar asked, surprised. His hair was a fright.

“Yes. Definitely more than hurricanes.”

Gabriel gave him a knowing nod. “You got your keys?”

Cas checked his pocket. “Yeah.”

“Then have a good walk.” Something in the way he said ‘walk’ made Cas think Gabriel knew exactly where he was going.

Twenty minutes later he found himself outside a familiar church. He lit a cigarette and thought back to the meeting schedule. Dean wouldn’t be here. Tonight was NA. He sucked in a last puff of smoke and dropped the butt to the sidewalk, crushing it with his toe. The cigarette had been unsatisfying. He could use a coffee, actually. He went inside.

The basement had a musty smell that Cas was beginning to find comforting and familiar. He poured himself a coffee and passed by the donut box. There were only plains left. He sat in the same part of the room he used to sit with Dean, putting his jacket in the spot Dean usually occupied. If he closed his eyes he could imagine nothing had changed. He tried to remember exactly how it had felt to lean against Dean’s arm, smell the faint scent of engine grease, and hear his low voice whisper to him.

The sound of a chair squeaking against the floor broke into his thoughts and he looked up to see Hannah. He moved his jacket, inviting her to sit.

“Hello Castiel. It’s good to see you here.” She sat, holding a coffee in one hand and a plain donut on a napkin in the other.

“Thanks.” Cas watched Hannah arrange her donut on her lap. “I won’t be going to AA anymore, but I think I’ll start coming here. Drugs were more my problem anyway.”

“I seem to have room for multiple problems in my life,” Hannah said.

Cas almost smiled. “Me too, I guess.” Suddenly he found himself telling her about Smith and about being drugged, and about how angry he was about having had a relapse he didn’t want.

“That’s not a relapse.” She pinched a piece from her plain donut and deposited it in her mouth. She reminded Cas of a bird.

“It’s not?” He felt hope melt into his chest.

Hannah shook her dark head. “A relapse requires intent. This man dosed you without your knowledge?”

Cas nodded. “He slipped it into my gingerale. I had no idea until I woke up the next day.”

“That’s accidental ingestion. We call that a freelapse. Keep counting your sobriety from where you were. You don’t need to start over.”

“Really?” Suddenly Cas felt hungry again.

“I wouldn’t lie just to make you feel good.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Two rows ahead of him Meg gave him a slow wink and a grin by way of greeting. Cas sipped his coffee and turned to face Hannah. “Do you have any interest in being a sponsor?”

She looked him in the eyes, hard, direct. “That would depend on who asked.”

“I’m asking. For me.”

“Yes, I will be your sponsor.”

“That’s great.” Cas pulled out his phone. “May I have your number?”

Hannah rattled off the digits and turned to the front of the room, where a woman named Ruby was welcoming people to the meeting. “Now be quiet and pay attention. You might learn something.”

This time Cas did smile. That night he shared something about himself with the group for the first time.

***

Gabriel heard Castiel’s key in the lock at 10:30pm. He tossed ice into the blender, added sweetened tea and hit a button. Castiel hung up his coat and wandered over just as he was pouring the mixture into glasses.

“Frozen iced tea, “he announced. “Have one.” When Cas hesitated he added, “100% drug and alcohol free.” Gabriel was amused by the look of surprise on his friend’s face. He’d have to have been living in a burlap sack not to notice his sudden disinterest in alcohol or drugs. And he’d be damned if he was going to be unsupportive, even if Castiel wasn’t ready to talk about whatever was behind it yet. Besides, frozen iced tea was freakin’ delicious.

“Balthazar gone?” Cas asked, taking the glass. Gabriel got why Castiel hadn’t wanted to tell Balthazar. He formed opinions fast and they set up hard, and he‘d long been of the view that a lack of booze made people boring. Gabriel never found people boring.

“Yeah. It’s just you and me, lollipop.” He toyed with a maraschino cherry and then tossed it into his drink. “You still down in the dumps about your boytoy?” Castiel had told him about how their date had ended. The situation reeked of Smith and Gabriel found himself wondering how difficult it would be to cut the brake lines on a car.

“Your sensitivity never ceases to amaze me,” Cas deadpanned.

“Hey! I’m sensitive.” Gabriel crossed his arms, looking vaguely like a genie. “What’s the problem?”

“Me.” He sipped his drink. “I’m not dating material. I’m not even friend material.”

“Shut up. You’re a great friend. And Winchester would be lucky to date you.” He didn’t know what Smith could have said to scare Winchester off, but whatever it was couldn’t have been true, cause Castiel was a sweetheart. Apart from his taste in men, that was. Maybe this Winchester was just a coward and a douchenozzle, like Smith.

“Thanks. You’re a great friend too.” Cas looked at the glass in his hand. “But whatever possessed you to make iced drinks in November?”

Gabriel smirked. “So I have an excuse to turn the thermostat up to 85.”

“It is rather…balmy in here.” Cas set the drink down. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sweet dreams, kiddo.” As Gabriel poured Cas’ drink into the sink he thought it was time he had a chat with Dean Winchester.

***

Dean unzipped his jacket as he stepped into the church basement. Counting the one on the west side, this was the fourth AA meeting he’d attended alone, and he didn’t feel like making small talk. He just wanted to grab a coffee and a seat someplace that didn’t remind him of Cas. Up front, maybe.

“No other half again this evening,” Meg leaned over his shoulder as Dean poured himself a coffee.

He shuffled out of her way. “Nope. All by my lonesome.” _Tonight. Tomorrow. Probably for the rest of my loser life._

Meg leaned across him and grabbed a honey cruller. “I’ll tell him you said hello.”

“Sure. You do that.” Dean sighed. “If you ever see him again,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Meg looked genuinely puzzled. “I see him every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday.”

“Really?” Now it was Dean’s turn to look confused. “Where?”

Meg smirked. “Where do you think?” Dean heard Chuck welcome people to the meeting and Meg sashayed away, humming ‘I know something you don’t know.’

Dean tried not to jump to conclusions. Maybe Meg was taking Cas’ yoga class. Or maybe not. He snatched a meeting schedule and stared at it through most of the check-ins. Narcotics Anonymous met on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. Dean thought long and hard about what that might mean.

He was still thinking about Cas after the meeting, as he leaned against a post in the basement, waiting for Benny. The two of them were gonna grab a coffee as soon as he and Chuck talked some admin business.

“Hello Dean.”

He swiveled, startled. A thin brunette was standing, hands folded, beside him.

“Oh, hey. It’s Hannah, right?”

“Yes.”

Dean felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny, like he was about to be given detention.

“I was hoping I might see you,” she said. “I thought we could talk.”

“What about?” Was she trying to hit on him? He was so not going there.

“Are you familiar with the term Freelapse?” she asked suddenly.

“Freewhat?”

“Freelapse. It’s when someone ingests alcohol or drugs accidentally.”

“Didn’t know there was a term for that.” Dean tried to smile, but couldn’t muster one. “I’m pretty careful,” he added. “I check the ingredients on stuff. Mouthwash, whathaveyou.” He looked across the basement, willing Benny and Chuck to finish their conversation faster.

“It could also describe a situation in which someone is given a substance without their consent.”

Dean tensed. Was that a threat? “Thanks for the info.” Dean looked toward Benny again, relieved to see him approaching. “I gotta head out. Good talk.”

He hurried to put the thick man between himself and Hannah. “Okay, I am officially creeped out by her.”

Benny’s mouth curled into a lazy smile. “By Hannah? She’s a doll.”

“Sure. One of those ones that comes to life at night and tries to stab you.”

Benny glanced over his shoulder and back again. “Can’t say I’m seeing it, brother.”

***

Dean was exiting the garage late Tuesday night when he heard someone call his name.

“You Dean Winchester?”

Dean turned. The guy was short, mostly nose and jaw, and he needed a haircut. “Who’s askin’?”

“Relax Dean-O.” He grimaced at Dean’s clothes. “I’m not the fashion police.”

“Then whaddaya want?”

“I want to know why you dropped Castiel like a hot potato. Little angel’s been crying on my shoulder all week.”

Dean felt a wave of sympathy and pushed it back down. “Cas knows what he did. And if he won’t tell you, then ask his boyfriend, Smith.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, reminding Dean of Groucho Marx. “Say again?”

“Look, I don’t mind Cas using me to scratch his seven year itch. Great sex, never see him again? Fine. I can see why he’d want to cheat on Smith. That guy’s an asshole. But I can’t get past the lying. I thought he really, that we...” Dean took a step back. “Fuck. Why am I even bothering?”

The man smiled. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty, cause you’re dumb as a box of hammers.”

“What?”

“Castiel and Smith were just roommates. He dated Castiel’s sister, Anna, like, a decade ago. I’ve seen more sexual contact watching re-runs of Donnie and Marie.”

“Smith said they were together.”

“Sorry to deflate your bouncy castle, Dean-O, but Smith is a liar.” He shrugged. “But hey, if you want to ditch someone who loves you on the say-so of a narcissistic corporate cannibal, go right ahead. Just don’t pretend you’re the good guy here.”

Dean watched the man leave, wondering if he’d been strung along by Smith or if he was being strung along now. I took a full two minutes before he realized the guy had said Cas loved him.


	9. Chapter 9

When Dean got home Sam was hovering over a pot on the stove, which made Dean's insides knot. Sam only cooked when he thought his brother was having a ‘bad mental health day.’ Dean rolled his head and barely stifled a groan. Sam was gonna want him to talk about his feelings. Dean ducked into the bathroom and scrubbed at the grease under his nails, delaying joining his brother in the kitchen for as long as he could.

“Hey Sam.” Dean nodded as he entered, feeling like he was facing a firing squad made up of care bears. “Cookin’ again?”

“I’m trying.” His brother extended a wooden spoon with pasta on it, “taste this and tell me if it’s done.”

Dean felt the pasta between his molars, still too chewy. “Another minute.” He sat on a stool and watched his brother watch the pot.

“So,” Sam said finally. “I hear Cas picked up his car.”

“Yep.”

“How’d that go?”

“Bobby handled it.” Dean shifted on the stool. “Weird thing happened after work though. Some friend of Cas’ came by. Said I broke his heart.”

“Think he’s got that the wrong way round,” Sam said, his tone firm. “Cas was the one that cheated.”

“This friend says Cas’s been single this whole time. Except for me.” Dean sighed. “I don’t know who to believe.” The harder he wanted it to be true the less plausible he found it. Good things didn’t happen to him out of the blue. Except Cas had happened that way, so maybe he was being an idiot.

“Look, I get why you feel down. I liked Cas.” Sam carried the pot to the sink and drained the pasta, leaning away from the cloud of hot steam. “But single or not, if he lied about being sober that’s a friend you don’t need.”

Dean picked at a thread unraveling from the bottom of his t-shirt. “I might be wrong about that too.” He’d been thinking on the way home, safe behind the wheel of his Impala, with Rocky Mountain Way pouring from the speakers, and some of the weird things people had said started to form a picture. If Smith lied about being with Cas, maybe he’d lied about Cas using. But then why had Smith offered to let Dean come up and witness Cas passed out on the couch? One answer to that question was a suspiciously good fit for the cryptic shit Hannah had said the other night. Dean rubbed a hand through his hair. He wished he could strap people down and interrogate them until he had the answers. This confidentiality thing was cutting him off at the knees.

Dean watched his brother slice a baguette. He could use Sam’s brain on this. He shared the piece of the puzzle he was the most sure about. “Think he might be going to NA.”

He winced as Sam rinse the pasta, washing away the starch. The sauce wouldn’t stick as well now, but Dean kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t the time to release his inner Julia Child.

“Really?” his brother returned the pasta to the stove and upended a can of sauce into the pot. “Easy enough to find out. Show up at the next meeting and see if he’s there.”

Dean frowned as his brother added broccoli to the pasta. The freak was always trying to smuggle green vegetables into perfectly good carbs. “I can’t go to NA.”

“Why not?”

Dean crossed his arms. “Cause I’m not in NA.” While some meetings were open to non-members it wasn’t so people could stalk their boyfriends. Or ex-boyfriends. Or shoulda-been boyfriends. Whatever Cas was.

“Okay,” Sam said. “So lurk around outside the meeting. See if he comes out. The sidewalk is public space.”

“I’m not gonna get arrested for stalking?” Dean was only half kidding.

“Not unless you make him fear for his safety.” He plated the pasta and Dean picked up a fork and mumbled his thanks. He stuffed his mouth and pondered the idea of staking out the next NA meeting. It felt a little like running for Mayor of Crazytown again.

“Hang around? That the best you got?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s easier than trying to get a urine sample.”

***

As he leaned against the church late Wednesday night Dean stomped his feet and rubbed his hands together, wondering how long it took for human skin to freeze, but the biting wind was forgotten the moment he saw a familiar messy-haired figure in a trench coat.

“Hey! Cas!” Dean stepped out of the shadow. “Damn. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. Wanna grab a coffee?” Words ran through his brain, ‘Please say yes, please say yes,’ as if wishing could make it happen.

Cas stepped closer, looking angelic in the soft glow of a streetlight. “Can it be food? I’m starving.”

Dean’s body unclenched “Split a pizza? Any topping you want. My treat.” Cas nodded warily and they crossed to the parking lot. “No honey crullers this evening?”

“I wasn’t fast enough to get one.” Cas shrugged. “Junkies love sugar.” He pulled out his keys. “I’ll have to follow you in my car.” He pointed toward the Lincoln, lurking in the dark lot like a family-sized casket.

Right. Cas had his own car. No need for him to press casually against Dean’s shoulder when the Impala took a fast turn. No more moments where he and Cas sang along to a good tune as they coasted over a smooth stretch of hardtop. Now the best he could hope for was catching a glimpse of Cas’ headlights behind him. His stomach roiled. He didn’t want Cas in the rear-view; he wanted him riding shotgun.

“Those are new.” Dean nodded at Cas’ keychain where two fat NA chips hung. “What are they for?”

“This one’s for showing up in the first place.” Cas’ mouth twisted into a half smile. “Surprisingly easy to get.” He ran a thumb over the second chip. “And this one’s for a month.”

“That legit? You earn that?” Dean hated to ask, but he needed to know. He tensed, like his body was preparing to ward off a blow.

Cas looked him in the eye, a little pissed. “Yes I did. They were surprisingly understanding about my roommate drugging me into unconsciousness and ruining the best relationship I’ve almost had.”

Dean nodded. Fuck. He should’ve talked to Cas in the first place. But to be fair, until his heart stopped bleeding all over the place he wouldn’t have been a very good listener.

“You know what, though?” Cas exhaled a chuckle. “Mine wasn’t even the worst story that night. I’d go into details, but you know. ‘Who you see here, what you hear here…’”

“…when you leave here, let it stay here.” Dean completed the familiar motto. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Keeping his mouth shut worked fine when it came to AA, but if he was gonna fix this thing with Cas he needed to make amends. “Look, I’m sorry, Cas. For all of it. I was an asshole.”

“I agree.” Cas smiled at the ground. “You mentioned pizza?”

“You pick the place.” Dean moved toward his car, eyes on Cas. “I’ll follow you anywhere.” He thought of his gas tank. He’d need a refill if Cas felt like having pizza in Colorado or Oklahoma. He lucked out; Cas drove three blocks east before pulling into an empty gravel lot of a place called Tony’s.

Dean fumbled his slice, feeling like a boy on his first date. “So, how you been?” He hoped to God he wasn’t about to hear how Cas had found a new boyfriend. That would be just his luck.

“Busy. I’m teaching history at the community college in January. Finally getting some use out of my degree. I had to do some explaining about my job history. Academia doesn’t exactly value yoga experience." He shrugged and folded a slice of pepperoni in half. “Plus it’s taken me a while to get unpacked.” He stuffed half the slice into his mouth.

The face and sounds Cas made as he tasted the pizza were pornographic. Dean felt his heart leap and his pants tighten. He took a hard suck of his soda as if the drink could cool the heat in his belly. “You guys move?”

Cas nodded until he finished chewing and swallowed. “ _I_ moved. Smith and I have parted ways. I’m staying with Gabriel for now, teaching yoga and helping out with his catering company until the college gig kicks in. If you want to swing by sometime I’ll make dinner. I have recipes to learn.”

Dean grinned. Any plan that involved seeing Cas again was a good plan. “So I’d be your guinea pig?”

“Exactly. Apologies in advance if I poison you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. I've been kind of a douche.”

Cas looked thoughtful. “You do have a pattern of jumping to the worst possible conclusions.”

“Winchester freakin’ special, right there.”

“You can make it up to me. Just don’t get your hopes up. If I fail we’ll be eating nachos and hotdogs from the 7-11.”

“I’m okay with that.” Hearing Cas use the word ‘we’ warmed him and Dean threw caution to the wind. “How do you feel about turkey and pie? I know it's only a few weeks away, but I’ve got a seat at Thanksgiving dinner with your name on it. If you want it.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Who doesn’t want turkey and pie?”

*******

The morning light of Thanksgiving was struggling to break through the cloud cover and the wind had gotten frosty. Dean hurried from the warm interior of the Impala to the lobby of Gabriel’s apartment building. He punched in the digits on the security panel, heard the ponderous ringing of a phone, and then Cas’ rough voice. “Hello.”

“It’s me. I’m downstairs.”

“Come on up, Dean.”

“You gotta buzz me in.” Dean breathed heavily into his cupped hands, the warmth dissipating immediately. The entryway was like a meat freezer.

“How do I do that?”

“I dunno, Cas. Press a button.” Dean flattened his palms against his burning ears. Maybe Sam was right and he needed to get earmuffs, even if they made him look like Princess Leia. Of course if Sam had his way Dean would be wearing mittens on strings next.

Random tones came through the speaker as Cas pressed buttons. The door let out an irritated buzz and Dean yanked it open.

“It’s cold out,” Cas commented, looking at a weather report on his laptop.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Dean removed his jacket, bringing him down to two layers, and basked in the heat of the apartment. “You shoulda seen it this morning. Sam had me out running.”

“You run?”

“I did. And then I coughed up phlegm for like, ten minutes. Thought I was gonna pop a lung.”

“Sexy story, Dean.”

“Go ahead. Laugh at my pain. You’ll be jealous when I have the sexual stamina of a young Hercules.” Dean cracked a smile as he felt his cheeks thaw.

“I think my years of yoga can keep up with your one day of cardio.”

“Yeah? We’ll see. Sam threatened to drag me out again tomorrow. Could become a habit.”

Cas twisted his spine in a way that was both alarming and erotic. “Enjoy the twenty-five degree weather while I do yoga inside. Maybe in something skimpy.”

Dean moved in close and wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist. “Skimpy? Tell me more.”

Cas leaned into the embrace, smiling against Dean’s chest. “Gabriel likes the thermostat high. And the oven gives off a lot of heat.”

Dean frowned. “You didn’t have to cook, you know. They’ll have everything at Bobby’s. You don’t need to bring food to make my family like you.”

Cas ran a hand slowly across Dean’s chest. “But I made pie.”

Dean’s eyes got big. “What kind of pie?”

“One of them is pecan.”

Dean’s mouth watered. “There’s more than one?”

Cas nodded, gripping his lower lip between his teeth. “Are you tired from all that running this morning?”

“No. Why?”

Cas looked to the clock on the wall and back again. “Because we have a two hours before they’re expecting us, and I have lube and condoms in my room.”

Dean pulled Cas closer and leaned into his neck. “You have my attention.” He allowed himself to be led to Cas’ bedroom.

Once inside Dean pressed his back to the door, pulling Cas against him. “I _loved_ every second of what we did last time, but how’d you feel about switching it around?”

“As in I do you?” Cas pressed his hips forward, tentatively.

Dean wrapped a leg around Cas’ thigh and closed his eyes at the warm rush of pleasure as Cas ground into him again. “Yeah.”

“Hell yes.” Cas stepped back and enthusiastically began to undress.

“Cool.” Dean pulled off his shirts. “Look, if I do anything weird, like uh, cry or scream, just give me a minute, okay?”

Cas dropped his pants. “You fill me with confidence as a lover, Dean.”

“I’m just sayin’ if I freak out it’s nothing personal.” Dean shucked his pants and underwear. "This hasn't always gone so well for me in the past."

Cas was now completely naked, hard, and leaking a wet trail across his abdomen. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll go slow. If...”

Dean waited, expectant and nervous.

“…you remove your socks.” He glared down at Dean’s feet.

Dean grinned. “Okay, but that means I’m gonna put my cold feet on you.”

“I’ll suffer.”

Cas went slow all right. His pace was glacial, and it had Dean writhing, gritting his teeth, and assuring Cas that he was beyond ready. But the only things his begging earned were statements like, “patience is a virtue,” and “good things come to those who wait.”

When Cas finally entered him it was smooth and slick and Dean’s nerve endings were firing on all cylinders. He felt obscenely stretched, but there was none of the sharp pain he’d expected; only the sense that Cas knew the limits of Dean’s body and was going to take his sweet ass time exploring them. As Cas finally began to thrust inside of him Dean arched his back and let out a sound that was half-moan half-sob. Dean grabbed a handful of Cas’ hair and pulled him into a frantic kiss that didn’t want to end.

Dean’s orgasm hit him like a frying pan to the head. He clung to Cas, body twitching, as he squirted across his stomach and chest, shouting Cas’ name. Cas thrust twice more and then tensed, his mouth gaping soundlessly as he buried himself in Dean's body.

“That…was fuckin’ incredible.” To Dean, the words failed to capture what he’d just experienced. He’d been taken apart and left scattered on the bedspread; a jumble of useless limbs, wet, sticky, and gasping for air.

“I would concur.” Cas rolled onto his side, gazing at him with shiny eyes. He slid a finger through the mess on Dean’s torso and brought it to his mouth.

Dean stared at the ceiling until he got his nerve up enough to ask a question that scared him far more than thinking about bottoming ever had. “So, are we dating now? Officially?”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware there was an official record of who was dating.”

Dean smacked Cas with a clumsy arm. “You know what I mean. Can I stop introducing you as my friend or my sobriety buddy? Can I say boyfriend?”

“Dean,” Cas ran his fingers over Dean’s hand. “I have… commitment issues. Serious commitment issues.”

“And I’m an ex-con who hyperventilates if he tries to use a bathroom stall. What’s your point?”

Cas raised Dean’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “My point is that your boyfriend is kind of a jerk sometimes. But I’ll work on it.”

Dean grinned. “I’ll tolerate your commitment issues if you tolerate me bein’ crazy.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You think you’re the crazy one?”

“I dunno, Cas. Winchesters set the bar high when it comes to crazy.”

“You haven’t seen half of my crazy yet.” Cas rolled onto his back. “One of my siblings believes he’s an angel in league with Lucifer to bring about the apocalypse.”

Dean laughed. “That’s pretty crazy. You might have me there.”

Cas stretched. “I like the sound of that.”

“Sounda what?”

“ _Having_ you.”

Dean looked at the clock on the nightstand. “Give me twenty minutes and a glass of water and I’m all over that plan. But then we gotta shower, ‘cause I ain’t missing the chance to show my new boyfriend off to the family.”

***

The hot June sun bounced off his sunglasses as Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a hotel in Kansas City and turned to Cas.

“Last chance to pretend we got a flat and not embarrass ourselves in front of Sam and his graduating class,” Dean offered.

Cas pushed across the seat and wrapped his arms around Dean. “Shut up. It’ll be fun and Sam will be glad you came.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Dean let his head fall against Cas’ shoulder. “I’m so damn proud of him, Cas.”

“You should be. Stanford doesn’t give scholarships that size to just anybody. I find your brother very impressive.”

Dean pulled back, pouting his lips. “Should I be worried, babe?”

“Yes, you should. I would gladly trade our profound bond for a man who does magic tricks and is afraid of clowns.”

“He also rinses the starch off of pasta.”

“Well that tears it.”

Dean looked across the shining parking lot to the hotel’s doors. “Okay.” He slapped his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

Inside the lobby a sign welcomed University of Lawrence graduates, and directed them to Ballroom B, but Dean’s eyes were drawn to a figure glaring at his cellphone beneath a towering fern.

“Hey.” He nudged Cas. “Is that Smith?”

“Yes it is.” Cas’s hand tightened on Dean’s arm and he pulled them behind a pillar.

Smith looked sharp, in a suit and red silk tie. The man put a hand on his hip and Dean caught a flash of red suspenders. Dean had to hand it to him; the guy could dress.

“Nose healed up nice.” Den shifted protectively in front of Cas before he realized he was doing it. “Don’t think I’ve had my turn at him yet though.” His right hand curled into a fist.

“Let it go. He can’t be here for us,” Cas assured him, arresting Dean’s momentum. “It’s gotta be a coincidence.”

Suddenly a man in a tailored suit strolled into view, his high hairline balanced by the impeccably trimmed hair across his jaw. He placed a lingering kiss on Smith’s mouth. Dean looked to Cas to find him trying to hold in a laugh.

“You know that guy?” Dean asked, his voice low.

Cas nodded, his face brightening. “It’s Fergus Crowley. He’s Smith’s bosses’ boss. A CEO at Sandover.”

“Sorry I’m late, Darling,” the man said, his accent British. “The meeting with the Australians ran over.”

“Don’t lie to me, Crowley,” Smith said sternly. “I’m not your wife.”

“Could’ve fooled me, princess.” Crowley smirked while Smith glared at him. “Very well. I stopped for a massage. Happy now?”

Smith looked skeptical. “And by massage you mean hand job.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Such bourgeois sexual standards. You’re still the Natasha to my Boris.” He ran a hand appreciatively across Smith’s ass. “Although I won’t be able to prove that to you for another hour or so.”

Smith linked an arm through Crowley’s. “Well if I’ve got an hour then I have some boys you need to charm if our China deal is going to stay afloat.”

“Lead the way, gorgeous!”

Smith led Crowley into the ballroom, where a large sign welcomed the Gay Executives Networking Dinner Reception.

“Well. They seem well-matched.” Dean put an arm around Cas. “You doin’ okay?”

“Hell yeah.” Cas smiled, slow and gummy, his eyes shining with triumph. “I predicted Smith would be sleeping his way to the top within six months. Balthazar owes me three hundred dollars.” Cas pointed to the reception doors as they passed, headed for Sam's graduation dinner. “You saw them, right? You’re my witness!”

“Absolutely.” Dean propelled Cas along the hallway toward Ballroom B, laughing to himself. “But if you’re up three hundred then you’re buying our next pizza.”


End file.
